


conqueror of hearts

by aobajhoesai



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Crack, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff, IwaOi Week, Light Angst, M/M, Past Character Death, Prince Iwaizumi Hajime, Prince Oikawa Tooru, Rated M for language, Strangers to Lovers, honestly theyre so fucking gay its kind of disgusting, im sorry matsuhana nation ill make it up to u one day and give u a fic u deserve, in the way iwa cant stand oiks at first cus hes an annoying prick, matsuhana and kyouhaba are only side ships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:40:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28011771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aobajhoesai/pseuds/aobajhoesai
Summary: After years of pestering, Hajime is set to be married very soon.He meets Oikawa Tooru, and to him, it's hate at first sight.Or,Hajime is emotionally constipated and Oikawa Tooru is annoying. Hajime falls for him, anyway.
Relationships: Hanamaki Takahiro/Matsukawa Issei, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru, Kyoutani Kentarou/Yahaba Shigeru
Comments: 20
Kudos: 285
Collections: My favorite haikyuu fics





	conqueror of hearts

**Author's Note:**

> yo !! this one's for iwaoi week (day 4: royalty), even tho i know im a lil late ksjdke
> 
> shoutout to my best friend fleta for giving me this amazing prompt ty so much ur the loml !! 
> 
> this was lots of fun to write!! probably one of my fave fics if im being honest
> 
> i hope u enjoy it just as much !!

It’s quite strange seeing the palace this busy.

Hajime is sitting at his favourite pavilion, while the servants do their thing, maneuvering between the deep red kochia bushes that are a little early in their blooming this year. He shivers a little under his cloak as the chilly morning breeze washes over him, gently tousling his stray locks from one side to another. Hajime is content to feel a little cold after months of boiling hot weather. This year’s summer has been exceptionally hot in Johsai.

Hajime sighs, breathing in fresh air and letting the last kicks of summer reach him, bathing in it.

“Good morning, Your Highness,” all servants greet him when they pass him by, scurrying away quickly after to attend to their assigned duties. Hajime smiles at each and every one of them, but other than that, he has nothing to do. He's a little bored in the middle of the bustling mess. 

Well. Not exactly _bored._ Dread rises in his throat, squeezing, stealing his breath. It feels like swallowing oil.

He’s to be married in about two months.

The tournament. It’s tradition, so Hajime really shouldn’t shit on it as much as he’d like to. Fifty nobles, people from the first-class compete for a chance to court a member of the royalty. Him. Hajime is an only child, hit twenty just this summer and is painfully single. No suitors whatsoever, to his father’s utmost disappointment.

King Kousuke has always been a hopeless romantic at heart. Hence the tournament. 

“You seem to be in a rather foul mood, princey,” his bodyguard, Issei remarks with a teasing tilt to his tone. He’s standing behind Hajime, outside the pavilion, in his usual posture.

“Very observant of you,” Hajime grumbles. “What gave it away? The dread written all over my face?”

Issei snickers. “For starters, yes. It’s a clear hint.”

Hajime sighs, shaking his head. He smooths his hand down his chest, taking in the rich embroidery, the gold lacework coiling into abstract patterns. His new tunic and breeches were gifted to him by his father specifically for this occasion. He’s to greet his potential suitors in this.

He looks good in it, he’ll admit to that; royal blue matches his skin colour nicely, but he doesn’t want to charm anyone with aesthetics. Frankly, he doesn’t want to charm _anyone._ He isn’t keen on meeting his supposed other half, as you can tell; he was fine up until now, spending his days with Issei by his side, conversing and laughing about insignificant matters.

“You look damn fine in this one, princey,” Issei cheekily comments. “But you know that yourself, don’t you?”

Hajime rolls his eyes. “I wish I could set it on fire,” he murmurs. “Couldn’t my father wait another year, at the very least?”

Issei hums, regarding him with an amused look. “If it was up to you, you’d probably go bald before you even _consider_ marriage.”

Hajime tuts. “Precisely.”

Issei laughs, a low, warm tingling sound Hajime has grown fond of over time. “I think you could use some romance in your dull life, princey. You’re growing bitter.”

“That's the third time in a row you called me princey,” Hajime narrows his eyes, looking over his shoulder. “What’s with that?”

Issei shrugs. “Must be the spirit of the tournament. Can’t wait to see my prince finally get laid.”

Hajime snorts. “You’re awfully invested in my sex life for a bodyguard.”

“It _is_ my duty to ensure your physical well-being,” Issei grins. “My concerns fit that sentiment.”

Hajime sighs, standing up. “Sure they do.” He leaves the pavilion, Issei strolling after him as they make their way through the Royal Gardens. “This day is too nice to be ruined by cocky nobilities who think they have a chance.”

“Just as it’s too nice to be ruined by your pessimistic views, Haji,” Issei laughs. “Why won’t you give them a chance?”

“I don’t find overconfidence attractive, you know,” Hajime sighs. His gaze wonders from the garden up to the sky, the sun peeking through the soft veil of clouds. “It’s all these big titles have. A superiority complex, ulterior motives, greed. You name it.”

“Ah,” Issei says, realisation dawning on him. “I get it now. You think they’re here to marry a prince, and not you as a person? That makes sense.”

Hajime hums, stops in the middle of the pathway, closing his eyes, letting the sunshine caress his cheeks. “It does, doesn’t it? This tournament bullshit isn’t for me to find the love of my life, it’s for aristocrat shitheads to climb ranks.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Issei admits. “What if a prince or princess tries to win you over, then?”

“Then it’s just to secure peace with their nation.” Iwaizumi shrugs, letting go of the moment, looking over his shoulder to throw Issei a look. “I’m not naive enough to believe I could marry for love, but I’m still salty about it.”

“I can see that,” Issei chuckles. “Try to pick a tolerable one, then. I’ll have to listen to their shit everyday, too, so I’m counting on you.”

Hajime rolls his eyes. “Thanks for nothing, Sei.”

Issei grins. “Anytime, Your Highness.”

<>

A few hours later, the first families arrive at the palace. Hajime stands by his father’s side at the main gate of the Throne Hall to welcome nobility from all over and outside the country.

So far, he’s met twenty-six of fifty; counts and countesses, one princess from the neighbouring, small kingdom but that has been it so far. Not that Hajime expected much more. They’re all charming, offering their prettiest smile and yet, no one has caught Hajime’s eye all that much.

Still, he shows none of his true emotions on his face, smiling like he was taught to do, polite and formal. He’s pretty sure he hears Issei chuckle a few times from behind him when a few of the suitors send Hajime suggestive looks, a wiggle of eyebrows here and there. Very funny indeed. Hilarious, even.

The next one comes in, giving a solid ninety-degree bow, addressing the royalties as one should. He’s one of those attractive boys, has just the perfect structure; pretty lips, pretty nose, pretty eyes, if a little mischievous. His hair reaches a little below his shoulders, or so Hajime guesses, judging by his ponytail. He looks familiar, but Hajime can’t quite put his finger on it, can't place him. There’s a certain _something_ to the way he carries himself, haughty and proud, chin raised. Hajime immediately grows a dislike towards him, claiming him as another smug asshole noble who thinks they’re better than anyone else.

He walks over to Hajime, louting, a cocky glint dancing in his eyes. He takes Hajime’s hand into his delicately, gentle and all, and then presses his lips against his knuckles, soft and warm. “Your Highness, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” Then he straightens up, gesturing to the man standing behind him, strawberry blond and looking relatively bored, considering he’s in the company of royalties. “This is Hanamaki Takahiro, my most treasured servant,” he says. The man, _Takahiro,_ narrows his eyes at his alleged master, throwing him a deadly look. The corner of Hajime’s lips twitches upward, amused.

“Likewise. Mind introducing yourself?”

“Oh, pardon my manners,” Smug Asshole chuckles. “My name is…” He looks up at the ceiling, as if he’s forgotten his own name. “Hm. Juan. I’m Juan. That’s a good one.”

Hajime raises an eyebrow. “Quite an exotic one, is it?” Issei snorts behind him.

“Ah, yes,” Smug Asshole grins. “I’ve heard of it from overseas.”

Hajime narrows his eyes. Smug Asshole doesn’t even _try_ to hide the fact that it’s not his real name. He’s blatantly disrespecting Hajime, and that’s definitely a minus point for him. 

“Your Highness,” Smug Asshole interrupts Hajime’s train of thoughts. “I won’t settle for less than victory. I’m here to win the tournament _and_ your heart.”

Takahiro bites back a smile behind Smug Asshole, and Hajime is sure Issei is no better. On the other hand, he’s not impressed, nor amused, to say the very least. This guy is pissing him off, and he’s exceptionally good at it. He looks like he enjoys it, even.

Hajime raises his chin, taking notice of the significant height difference. To his chagrin, Smug Asshole is taller than him by about three inches. If anything, it only irritates Hajime more.

“If you’re willing to engage in the challenges ahead of you just for my hand, then you can certainly give me your name, can you not?” he asks, hardening his expression.

Smug Asshole smirks, delighted. “Don’t worry, _Your Sweetness,_ I’ll make sure you know what to scream in the bedroom later. But that’s quite straightforward, don’t you think?”

Hajime smiles, lacking humour. He crosses his arms behind his back, puffing his chest out, eyes dark. “Disrespecting your prince won’t get you very far. You claim to be set on victory, but I’m quite confident in my power to disqualify you any minute, Anonymous-san.”

The guy doesn’t falter. He looks just as confident, and Hajime hates him more and more by the minute. 

“Anonymous-san?” The man asks, cheeky. “Ah, and you criticise me for giving you a decent name like Juan, Your Cuteness? You wound me.”

Hajime’s eye twitches. “Good,” he settles for saying, mentally cursing himself for descending to this asshole’s petty level.

Smug Asshole’s grin widens. “You certainly make good company. I love me a fun challenge,” he says in a sing-song voice, mischievous. “Don’t worry, you’ll learn my name soon enough, when I win the tournament.”

Hajime steps back, signaling that he’s getting tired of the conversation. “We’ll see what fate has in store for you,” he remarks, remembering to be polite.

Smug Asshole gives him a smarmy smile. “That we will.”

  
  
  


Another hour later, Hajime is finally done with the introductions and greetings. He retreats to his favourite pavilion, this time inviting Issei to sit next to him, gaze set on the nearby pond.

“That was fun,” Issei says, clearly set on making Hajime’s day worse. “My personal favourite is that _Juan_ guy. He has a cute bodyguard, too.”

Hajime groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m _not_ calling him that. Besides, he pisses me off. Even more than the standard aristocrat brats.”

“He seems fun,” Issei laughs. “At least you wouldn’t get bored with him.”

Speak of the devil.

Hajime spots Smug Asshole across the pond, wandering in the Royal Gardens with his bodyguard by his side. He’s wearing the same tunic, the turquoise material accuentating his features. Hajime never said he looked _bad,_ because he doesn’t, as much as Hajime hates that fact. Smug Asshole is attractive. Even the thought of him annoys Hajime.

Unfortunately for him, Smug Asshole meets Hajime’s gaze, a smile immediately blooming on his lips. He waves at the prince like a child, aiming for the adjective _cute_ but Hajime knows better.

Still, he’s been taught manners, so he nods in acknowledgement, gaze drifting onwards.

“Man,” Issei mumbles. “He has to be pretty rich, judging by his looks.”

Hajime hums in agreement, but he honestly couldn’t care less. Everyone invited to the castle has money, so Smug Asshole isn’t special here.

“I can’t wait for this shit to be over,” Hajime grumbles. “I can’t stand people like him.”

Issei snorts. “Who knows. Maybe he’ll turn out to be the man of your dreams?”

“I doubt it,” Hajime huffs, tone neutral. “He’s proved to be the man of my nightmares so far.”

Issei wants to say something more but Hajime changes the topic, refusing to waste his free time any further on thinking about irritating people.

<>

In the evening, after Hajime’s father officially welcomed all challengers and opened the Engagement Tournament, Hajime resigned himself to the company of his father and his neatly made dinner, stuffing himself full as gracefully as socially acceptable. He didn’t feel like making meaningless conversation with any suitors. He keeps his distance, and will continue to do as long as he can. He doesn’t want to engage in any unnecessary interactions with assholes.

After dinner, he excuses himself, bowing to his father. He doesn’t spare a glance in the challengers’ way, head held high and steps determined, Issei following him.

“Are you going to be like this for the entire duration of the tournament?” Issei queries, poking fun at Hajime lightheartedly. “No one wants to court a cold-hearted, condescending prince like you.”

“Good,” Hajime immediately says. “I don’t want them to.” He exits through the Great Hall, his feet taking him to his beloved pavilion without a second thought. The path he takes is familiar, smiling at the guards that lower their heads as soon as they see him. He waves them off, signaling for them to put themselves at ease, steps gentle and elegant as he passes them by. Issei murmurs a ‘good evening’ to them, too.

“It’s a shame stubbornness wasn’t part of your etiquette lessons,” Issei quips. “You’d excel at it.”

Hajime smiles, rolling his eyes. “I excel at every class I take, Sei.”

“You certainly do,” Issei snorts. They pass by a secluded part of the garden, statues standing in a row. Hajime spares them no thought. It’s just a bunch of commemorative artworks of conquerors after conquerors, murderers who were celebrated for taking the lead of the people. Hajime sees the fault in the current system, has better insight than most royals would have, but he’s not in charge yet to do anything about it. 

Turning around a corner, he can finally see his usual spot. The servants have already lit the lanterns, the flicker of fire reflecting in the pond before the pavilion, melting into a fluid dance.

Determined footsteps ring after them. Hajime looks over his shoulder, annoyance immediately filling him at the sight.

“Oh,” Issei says. “We have company.”

Takahiro and his irritating master take quick strides to catch up to Hajime and Issei, Smug Asshole looking excited.

“What a beautiful night we have, Your Sweetness,” he greets Hajime, bowing slightly. 

“It’d be a shame for you to ruin it,” Hajime shoots back.

The man laughs. “I don’t intend on doing so.”

Hajime suppresses a petty _too late,_ swallowing. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company here?” In simpler words, _why the fuck are you here?_ The asshole can understand that much from Hajime's tone. 

He earns a smile. “I wasn’t aware this part of the garden is off-limits.”

“It isn’t,” Hajime says, reserved. “I find it hard to believe that our garden is too small for you to busy yourself elsewhere, however.”

“Ah, you got me, my prince. I did want to spend some time with you.”

Hajime narrows his eyes. “And what makes you think the feeling is mutual?”

The man shrugs, finally starting to walk to the pavilion. “It doesn’t have to be.” Hajime wants to kick him in the balls. He reluctantly follows, well-aware that it’d be impolite to leave now.

“Why do you insist on bothering me with your presence so much?” He sighs, taking a seat across Smug Asshole, meeting Takahiro’s eyes for a fleeting second. The bodyguard seems amused.

“Angering you is not my main motive, Your Highness,” Smug Asshole grins. “Although it gives me great pleasure to see you like this. With all due respect, you’re adorable.”

Hajime crosses his arms. “Annoying me isn’t very beneficial for you. You must realise that too, no?”

“Again, I’m not here to annoy you, my prince.” The man waves him off. “Rather, I’m here to make you realise you don’t actually hate me.”

Hajime can’t help it. He laughs. “Good luck with that. And don’t call me your prince. I am not yours.”

“Not yet.” Smug Asshole winks. Hajime hates how charming it actually looks. Too bad he’s not interested.

He has a retort resting on his tongue, waiting to slip, but he holds back. Further bickering will only spur this guy on, which is the exact opposite of what Hajime wants. Instead, he diverts his attention to the pond, eyes softening at the sight. This place has always been the dearest to him.

“I can see why you’re so fond of this spot,” Smug Asshole is quick to break the silence. “It’s beautiful.”

Hajime gives him an unreadable look, expression neutral. “Beauty doesn’t necessarily awaken interest in me, usually.”

The man hums. “You must be rather perplexed, then, liking _me._ I’d say I’m quite pretty, aren’t I?”

“Pretty bothersome, is what you are,” Hajime grumbles. 

Smug Asshole’s eyes light up, an annoyingly gorgeous smile adorning his lips. “My prince, I’m pleasantly surprised. You _do_ make good company. It’s a relief that you’re not the boring small talk type of guy.”

Hajime shakes his head. “I can be many things. You don’t know me.”

The man nods. “Again, not _yet._ I’d love to get to know you better.”

“That makes one of us.”

“Sure it does,” comes the reply, and Hajime knows the other doesn’t believe him at all.

The prince huffs, gaze fixed on the pond. “Where are you from?”

He gets a chuckle. “Didn’t you just say you don’t want to get to know me? You’re full of contradictions, my prince.”

Hajime wants to slap him. “So be it. By all means, feel free to leave me alone with my contradictions any given minute,” he bites.

Smug Asshole’s smile doesn’t falter. His eyes shine amusedly, and something about his face pisses Hajime off. “I’m from Inari, my prince.”

Hajime glances at the man, and he can’t help it when he blurts; “You _do_ remind me of a nasty fox.”

Issei snorts loudly behind him, and Takahiro looks down at the ground, hiding his smile behind his hand.

“You wound me, my prince. I’m _pure,_ ” the guy says, fake-offended, his fist clenching his shirt above his heart, dramatic. “Unless you want me to be... _dirty?_ ”

“I don’t want you to be anything,” Hajime shuts him down. “Other than outside of a ten-feet radius of me.”

“Hm. Alright, you win this one,” Smug Asshole says, regarding him with a funny look. Hajime hates himself for smiling, but he does, unable to control his face.

“Ah, there it is! I already got to you, haven’t I?” Smug Asshole immediately seizes the opportunity, glowing from his small victory. “You have a gorgeous smile, Iwa-chan.”

Hajime snorts. “Iwa-chan?”

The man hums, leaning forward to put his elbow on the table, resting his chin in his palm. “It’s cute, isn’t it? It matches you, my prince.”

“Acting so familiar with your prince,” Hajime starts, raising a brow. “-will get you in trouble.”

“I’m certain it will,” Smug Asshole agrees, not sounding apologetic at all. “But don’t you like a little adventure?”

“Little adventure, yes; your kind of adventure, no,” Hajime answers out of reflex. 

“My prince, you’re quite feisty,” the man muses. “Haven’t you been taught any manners?” His tone isn’t condescending. Smug Asshole is _teasing_ him.

He made a mistake when he challenged Hajime’s patience. “Haven’t _you_?”

Smug Asshole nods. “Hm. Very well. I’ll be taking my leave, then.” Hajime sighs in relief. “I would’ve escorted you to your quarters, Iwa-chan, like a true gentleman. But no worries! We always have tomorrow, don’t we?”

Hajime smiles out of courtesy. “Of course.”

Smug Asshole stands up, amusement clearly written all over his face. He bows his head politely, excusing himself, sending Issei a small wave. Takahiro shoots Hajime one last look, expression neutral but eyes smiling, and then he takes off after Smug Asshole, hot on his heels.

“Juan is a fun man,” Issei whispers, his grin apparent in his voice.

“Our definitions of fun must be very different,” Hajime grumbles. He’s annoyed, but as much as he tries to hide it, he knows he’s also glad something is finally happening in his life. Not just boring prince duties and classes. There’s someone who’s ready to rile him up, and even if Smug Asshole excels in irritating him, this banter with him brought Hajime great joy. To some extent.

He’ll never say that out loud, of course.

<>

“Father, what’s his real name?” Hajime asks, exasperated.

King Kousuke gives him a subtle smile. “I wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise, son.”

  
  


<>

Three days later, Hajime is sitting beside his father on a podium which was set up in the Training Yard. He’s wearing his favourite attire, black tunic with cream-coloured breeches, fancy embellishment accuentating his curves. His hair falls into his eyes messily, borrowing him an overall softer look. Issei stands behind him, as usual, snarky comments waiting to be released from his throat. 

It is the day of the first challenge of the tournament. Swordsmanship.

The fifty suitors stand in a line, both women and men. They’re clad in lightweight armour, hands nervously gripping the hilts of their swords.

Hajime spots his favourite faces; the last three days, he had the chance to get to know some of them better. He’s not really romantically interested in anyone, but a few suitors happened to be better company than expected. For example, Kindaichi Yuutarou, who’s a little too young to be here in Hajime’s opinion, is a passionate yet innocent guy. He’s very enthusiastic, but Hajime feels like the strongest emotions he will ever feel towards him are more... _brotherly._ Kyoutani Kentarou is another challenger Hajime is quite fond of; he’s open and a little bit of a brute, but he admitted right away that he’s only here because he was told to come. He isn’t interested in courting Hajime, just has a hero-like admiration for the prince. 

Hajime smiles at them, gaze drifting to Yahaba, Watari and Kunimi. He’s pleasantly surprised to have met these aristocrat heirs; they’re great companions. But then again, Hajime isn’t romantically interested in any of them. If he had to choose, though, he'd have a few options that aren't so bad.

Then, his eyes meet Smug Asshole’s. The man is staring at him with no filter whatsoever, shameless and cocky. He raises an eyebrow, a small smile dancing on his lips.

Hajime looks away.

Out of all the challenges, the first one is the most preferable for him. No direct contact, he’s just to watch the people before him fight. The fifty of them were paired up against each other, which results in twenty-five losers. Hajime has to choose ten of them to eliminate. Sounds easy, right? He just has to list ten random names he can barely remember, and they’re done.

His father announces the pairs, signing the start of the challenge. Hajime listens to him patiently, mostly bored.

One thing does catch his attention, though. Yahaba is up against Smug Asshole.

That ought to be interesting.

“Oya? Yahaba-kun and Juan?” Issei wonders aloud.

“Stop calling that idiot Juan,” Hajime sighs. “I admit, though, I’d like to see Yahaba crush that prick.”

  
  


To Hajime’s utmost displeasure, that’s not what happens. Yahaba and Smug Asshole are the eleventh pair, anticipation growing in Hajime’s chest. When the referee finally signals the start of their duel, Hajime furrows his brows, paying close attention.

They both assume a high guard, but before either of them moves, Smug Asshole throws a grin over his shoulder, aiming right at Hajime.

Yahaba lunges forward. Smug Asshole easily dodges, effortless and annoyingly graceful. He dances on his tiptoes around Yahaba, neatly avoiding his cuts, his free hand held behind his back. It’s obvious from his form that Smug Asshole received high-level training. He parries Yahaba’s overhand cut, and then, as if growing bored, he finally moves, on the offensive. He tackles Yahaba way too fast, twisting the hilt out of the other man’s grip, taking hold of it. He moves fast, swinging his arm, the point of his sword mere inches away from Yahaba’s throat. Smug Asshole stops before he could actually inflict any injuries, but it doesn’t matter.

Smug Asshole won, and he did it too simply for Hajime’s liking.

“Oh, that was kinda hot,” Issei comments.

Smug Asshole lowers his sword, turning around to face Hajime. He’s smirking. Bastard.

Hajime refuses to look at him.

The rest of the challenge passes by smoothly. To the crowd’s surprise, Hajime doesn’t eliminate Yahaba at the end, despite how fast the boy lost. Hajime can feel Smug Asshole’s eyes on him but he pays him no mind. If his decision annoyed Smug Asshole even a little bit, then Hajime did a good job.

<>

Later that day, Hajime stumbles across Yahaba.

“Your Highness, a word?”

He smiles, nodding. “Of course, Yahaba-kun. What is it?”

Yahaba blushes. “I wanted to thank you for keeping me in the game, Your Highness. I reckon my performance this morning was rather... _pathetic._ ”

“Don’t put yourself down like that,” Hajime gently scolds him. “I could see from your stance that you’re a great fighter. Had you been put against anyone else, I’m sure you would have won.”

Yahaba blinks. “Oh. Do you like Juan-san, Your Highness? If you don’t mind me asking.”

Hajime grimaces. “The opposite, rather. And you do know Juan is not his real name, right?”

Yahaba laughs. “Of course, Your Highness. I think everyone figured that out. Well, maybe not Kyoutani-kun. He’s not exactly a _thinker._ ”

Hajime grins. “Yahaba-kun, you seem to be very invested in him.”

Yahaba winces. “I wouldn’t say _that._ Our differences are just, um. More _apparent_ than others’.”

Issei snickers behind Hajime, and the prince shares that sentiment, too. “If you say so.”

Yahaba’s ears turn pink, embarrassed. “Uh, yes. Your Highness, I’ll make sure to properly woo you in the next challenge. I will not disappoint you again. Thank you for giving me another chance!”

Hajime smiles, gentle. “I’ll be looking forward to it, Yahaba-kun.” 

“Iwa-chan! It’s fancy seeing you here!”

Confusion plasters onto Yahaba’s face, eyes widening when he realises the source of the voice. Hajime, on the other hand, groans softly, not even trying to hide his disdain.

He reluctantly turns around, meeting Smug Asshole’s eyes in the middle. He’s wearing a white shirt, tucked neatly into his pants. He hasn’t taken his sword belt off yet, resting his hand on the hilt, long, pretty fingers circling the pommel. Hajime glances at his fancy scabbard, looking for a crest that would give away Smug Asshole’s identity, coming up empty-handed. This bastard was throughout when he prepared to court Hajime anonymously.

“You again?” Hajime asks bluntly. Yahaba senses the tension in the air, humbly excusing himself under his breath, scurrying away.

“You didn’t think getting rid of me is easy, I hope?” Smug Asshole smiles, gaze drifting to Yahaba’s retreating form. “Is Yahaba-chan your type, my prince?”

Hajime doesn’t bother with a reply. He starts walking away, well-aware that Smug Asshole is too persistent to leave him just yet. True to his assumption, the man catches up to him in two long strides, ignoring Issei’s snort at him. 

“Can I take your silence as an affirmation?” Smug Asshole pushes him further, insistent. If Hajime listens closely, he can hear a little bit of more than curiosity in the man’s tone, something teetering on the edge of _chagrin._ Serves him right.

“You’re free to believe whatever you want,” Hajime says, nonchalant.

“Who knew the prince was so good at playing with people’s feelings?” Smug Asshole pokes at him, petulant. “Here I am, trying to earn your goodwill to the best of my abilities, and you treat me so lightly.”

“I wasn’t aware these attempts were _the best of your abilities,_ ” Hajime quips. “Considering how unaffected I am.”

“Unaffected isn’t the word I’d use for you, Iwa-chan,” Smug Asshole muses, cheerful. “You and my nephew are very similar. I’m sure you’d love him if you met him.”

“We share the same dislike towards superficial people like you, I assume?”

“You’re hurting my feelings, my prince,” the man smiles.

“Apologies,” Hajime smiles right back at him. “I didn’t realise you had any.”

He hears a soft _damn_ from Takahiro and a chuckle from Issei. Hajime has never been good at enduring annoying people for long without snarky comments, he’ll admit that. He has no chill.

Smug Asshole huffs, fake-offended. “Excuse you, Iwa-chan? I’ll have you know, I’m an extremely emotional person. Some would call it a flaw, but I like to think it’s one of my many strengths.”

“I’m sure it is,” Hajime grins.

Smug Asshole ignores him. “So, my prince, how are you feeling today?”

Hajime rolls his eyes. As much as he doubts his sincerity, Smug Asshole is good at acting like he cares about him. He makes sure to ask how Hajime is doing every time they encounter each other, wants to know if there’s anything he could do for him. Of course, Hajime doesn’t miss a single chance to tell him that leaving him alone would be the greatest gift from him, but it doesn’t deter Smug Asshole. It never does.

“Good, thank you. Today’s challenge was entertaining.” He doesn’t inquire about Smug Asshole’s well-being on purpose, but it’s very likely that the man didn’t expect him to, at this point.

“Are you fond of seeing people fight, my prince?”

“Not exactly. I like duelling myself, rather. Seeing other people do so isn’t as thrilling, though I have no right to complain.”

“Ah,” Smug Asshole says in understanding. “My prince has quite the fighting spirit on his own, don’t you?”

“You could say that,” Hajime nods, smiling softly despite himself.

“Then, would you like to duel with me?” Smug Asshole bluntly proposes.

Hajime raises an eyebrow, taken aback. “Are you really disrespectful enough to your prince that you dare to challenge me?”

Smug Asshole waves him off. “Of course not. I’m challenging you for the sole purpose of your entertainment,” he chirps. 

“Certainly,” Hajime huffs, unbelieving. “Very well. It would bring me great joy to defeat you, actually.”

“I like your confidence, my prince,” Smug Asshole laughs. “It’s cute.”

Hajime resists the urge to roll his eyes. “What time suits you best?”

“The one you pick, Your Sweetness.”

Suck-up. “So be it. Tomorrow morning, I’ll meet you at the Training Yard.”

Smug Asshole smiles. It takes Hajime off-guard how honest it looks, how sincerely delighted he seems. “I’ll be there.”

<>

Hajime wakes up in a good mood. The rising sun illuminates his room, casting soft, weak shadows across his carpet. He opens the window, letting the morning breeze leave goosebumps on his skin, taking a huge breath of fresh air. It’s chilly, just the kind of weather Hajime loves. He’s never been fond of boiling temperatures, despite being born at the beginning of summer. He takes in the view, something he’s already grown used to, but the sight still steals his breath away every time. 

He wants to see Smug Asshole.

Well, that’s not exactly right. He wants to see Smug Asshole, _defeated,_ at his mercy.

It’s been a long while since the last time he’s met anyone who was willing to duel him. He’s thrilled to the bones, the oncoming wave of adrenaline very much anticipated. The weight of a sword in his palm, the pull of his armour, the instinctive way his body takes over his mind - he's missed it all. He’s used to being praised for his exceptional fighting skills, so he’s excited to see the scale of his power compared to an Inari man.

He puts on his dearest leather armour, sword belt matching the brown material. He spares himself a look in the mirror, remarking in satisfaction that despite his lack of morning getting-ready routine, he looks pretty decent.

He exits his quarters, with a skip to his step, taking two steps at a time down the stairs.

“Woah. You’re glowing, Hajime,” Issei greets him outside, blinking curiously. A smile pulls at his lips, mirth reflecting in his eyes. “Excited?”

“To put that asshole in his place? Very,” Hajime grins, taking off, more than ready for his duel.

“Your mother was right when she said you weren’t meant for the princey life,” Issei murmurs, gentle, a little cautious. "You like fighting way too much."

Hajime ignores the squeezing of his chest, grinning. “This is to prove her right.”

Issei hums but doesn’t push the subject. 

They arrive at the agreed place relatively fast, Hajime’s feet taking him there quicker than usual.

“Good morning, Iwa-chan! Have you slept well?” Smug Asshole is already waiting for him, clad in armour, sending Hajime a blinding smile. Takahiro seems sleepy behind him, eyelids almost dropping. He must be used to more resting hours.

“I have,” Hajime says, unable to hide his smile. “Dreamt of the resignation on your face I hope to see once I win.”

Smug Asshole smirks. “I’ll make sure to put up a fight to avoid such a thing.”

“I’d be offended if you didn’t,” Hajime huffs.

“You seem to be in a good mood today, my prince,” Smug Asshole notes. “If I knew it took me only a duel with you to make you smile, I would’ve proposed the idea ages ago.”

“It doesn’t take a genius to figure out how much I want to defeat you,” Hajime shoots back, mischievous. “You’re not really bright, are you?”

Smug Asshole shakes his head, smiling. “You’re so brutal, Iwa-chan.”

Hajime snorts, not even bothering to tell Smug Asshole off for using such a childish form of his name anymore. “Just wait ‘til you fight me, then.”

“Oh, it’s _on,_ ” Smug Asshole accepts his challenge readily. “Shall we begin?”

“With pleasure.” Hajime discards his sword belt, taking his sword out of its scabbard, swinging it a few times in his hand to warm up his wrist, to adjust to the weight of it. “Issei, if you would.”

“Of course,” Issei murmurs. He counts down, signaling the start of their duel.

Smug Asshole sneers at him as they both assume a neutral stance, left arms behind their backs. Hajime takes the initiative, thrusting lazily at Smug Asshole, testing the waters. The man easily parries, swift movements supporting his style. Hajime throws a cut at him, observing Smug Asshole's reaction closely. And then he lunges forward, attacking for real this time. Smug Asshole uses the same tactic he used against Yahaba, but Hajime doesn’t let him off the hook that easily. In quick movements, he leaves no second for Smug Asshole to breathe. The man realises his flaw soon enough; this strategy won’t keep Hajime at bay. 

“Oh? Not bad.” Smug Asshole takes a few steps back, rearranging himself. He assumes a high guard, narrowing his eyes at Hajime. Hajime, unrelenting, throws a crooked cut, which Smug Asshole finally parries with force behind his blade.

Hajime smiles. He managed to force Smug Asshole to stop running away.

With the next cut, Hajime pins Smug Asshole’s sword to the side momentarily, just enough time for him to kick at his side, taking the other off-guard, his foot meeting its target.

Smug Asshole stumbles, a lazy grin tucked away at the corner of his lips. They move back and forth, reflexively parrying and searching for openings in the other’s defence. Hajime has to admit, he's got a formidable opponent.

However, Hajime also got this match in the bag. He waits for the right moment, which comes to him in the middle of a counter-thrust. He meets Smug Asshole face to face, arms and swords high, each surprised. Hajime doesn’t let the shock put him at a disadvantage, however, using hands and sword grip to pry Smug Asshole’s sword from his gloved hand. He kicks the fallen weapon away, out of reaching distance.

Smug Asshole grabs him around the shoulders, driving his knee up. Hajime twists just in time, taking the blow to his thigh. It’s surprisingly strong. He didn’t expect Smug Asshole’s lithe figure to be able to put such force behind his moves.

Then Hajime, at an obvious advantage, throws a cut that Smug Asshole can’t meet with his sword. Instead, he goes back to his previous tactic, dodging swiftly. Hajime almost scoffs, but before he can react, Smug Asshole is to his right, hands taking hold of Hajime’s dominant arm. And then he twists Hajime’s wrist, painful enough for Hajime to involuntarily let go of his sword.

Smug Asshole kicks his weapon away, similar to how Hajime did the same to him. He’s smirking.

“Now we’re even, Iwa-chan.”

Hajime smiles, too honest to go unnoticed. Smug Asshole raises a brow, wary of him, a second too late to realise Hajime excels in hand-to-hand combat, _too._ He is well-taught in the area of martial arts, knows enough to be able to fight just from simple muscle memory. 

Smug Asshole holds his ground for about two minutes, but Hajime eventually overwhelms him with incessant attacks, throwing jabs and punches at the other’s openings.

They end up on the ground, Hajime straddling Smug Asshole, pinning him down. One of his hands is around the man’s throat, the other holding down the man’s arms by his wrists. He’s happily out of breath, a bit of sweat trickling down his forehead and on the side of his neck.

There’s a moment of pause, their suggestive positions catching up to Hajime. He swallows loudly, looking down at his defeated opponent, eyes meeting in the middle.

Smug Asshole smiles. “I yield.”

Hajime sighs in satisfaction. He’s over the moon, standing up from the other man, offering a hand to pull him up.

Smug Asshole gladly takes it. “I have to admit, I’m pleasantly surprised, Your Sweetness,” he says, cheeks red from the exertion. “I didn’t expect you to be this good.”

“Underestimating me put you at a huge disadvantage,” Hajime flashes him a pleased grin. “Which wasn’t surprising at all.”

Smug Asshole giggles. “The more sides I get to see of you, the more I like you,” he confesses. Hajime rolls his eyes, picking up his sword from the ground. He doesn’t believe Smug Asshole for a second. He’s too smart for that.

He bows his head in courtesy. “It was my pleasure duelling with you,” he says, actually meaning it. It was nice _defeating_ this dickhat. 

“Likewise, my prince.” Smug Asshole returns the gesture, lowering his head. “May I escort you to wherever you’re headed?”

Hajime doesn’t bother answering. He knows the man will accompany him no matter what he says.

“Sei, what are my duties for the day?” he asks instead.

“You’re free of schedule, Haji,” Issei replies right away. “But I’m sure Kousuke-sama would love to spend some time with you. He’s in desperate need of gossip, apparently.”

“Isn’t he always,” Hajime grumbles. “Alright. I’ll meet him in the afternoon.”

Issei hums, smiling at Smug Asshole, who’s eyeing the two of them suspiciously.

“You seem to be close with your bodyguard,” he says, his sentence meant for Hajime. “Very... _intimate._ ”

“Naturally.” Hajime shrugs. “We grew up together. Oh, and we were also each other’s firsts. That might have to do something with it,” he says casually, smirking. Issei mirrors him, a lazy grin etched onto his lips, humming in agreement.

Takahiro whistles. “Hot damn.”

Smug Asshole seems to be thrown off his game, for once. He gapes. “You—you two—?”

“Had sex?” Issei fills out the question for him, amused. “Yes, we did. On multiple occasions.”

“You really _are_ shameless!” He cries, accusation evident in his tone. “You deflowered my prince?”

“I was never yours to begin with,” Hajime amends. 

“This is outrageous! How could you ever do that with someone like him?!”

Hajime raises a brow, suddenly feeling defensive. Is this asshole about to talk shit about Issei just because he’s not a spoilt aristocrat brat like him?

“Someone like him?” He asks back. 

“Yeah!” Smug Asshole nods vehemently. “I mean, okay, he looks damn fine, but I’m _right here_! He’s not _me_!”

Oh. Nevermind. He’s just an idiot.

“Thank the Twin Moons for that,” Issei quips.

Smug Asshole turns to him, eyes narrowed. “I’m not gonna lose to you, Mattsun-chan.”

Issei shrugs, face neutral, but Hajime knows damn well he’s trying hard not to smile. “Okay.”

Smug Asshole pouts. “At least _try_ to act like you’re a little frustrated, will you?” 

Issei hums. “I’m trying my best here.”

“You really aren’t!” Smug Asshole whines.

“Do you want me to bang ‘your prince’ again out of spite?” Issei finally grins, drawing quotation marks in the air.

Smug Asshole crosses his arms childishly, turning away from Issei. “I see where you got that attitude from, Iwa-chan.”

“My attitude is not the only thing he got from me,” Issei teases. Hajime and Takahiro burst out laughing, sharing a look.

“Shut up! Do not speak!” Smug Asshole moans. “I suddenly don’t like you, Mattsun-chan.”

“Hm. But you know who does?” Dear Twin Moons, Issei really has no chill. “Your prince.” The bastard knows his smirk is attractive as fuck. He has to.

Smug Asshole shrieks, utterly destroyed. Hajime sends Issei an impressed look.

Maybe spending time with Smug Asshole isn’t half as bad as Hajime thinks it is. 

<>

The second challenge takes place a week after the first one.

Dancing.

In the past week, Hajime spent most of his time talking to the suitors, getting to know them better. Dealing with Smug Asshole took up the majority of his free time, and Hajime doesn’t want to admit it, but he’s learnt to tolerate Smug Asshole’s presence. Even _longs_ for it when he’s bored.

Smug Asshole is actually not that bad. Okay, that’s a lie—he’s as bad as it gets. He’s full of himself, always flirting, always finding new ways to annoy Hajime, but Hajime no longer feels as irritated as he did in the beginning. Smug Asshole’s bodyguard, Takahiro is very talented at poking fun at the man, so with him and Issei on his side, Hajime gains the advantage in their usual banters. Issei still brings up the sleeping together joke every so often, reducing Smug Asshole to a petulant pile of huffs.

Hajime hasn’t had this much fun in a long while. Maybe this tournament wasn’t such an awful idea.

Back to the present. Hajime has just finished his dance with Kunimi. 

All forty suitors get a chance to amaze Hajime on the dance floor. King Kousuke arranged a ball just for this.

He’s currently talking to Kunimi, when he spots Smug Asshole across the Ballroom.

“Ah, here he comes,” Kunimi says, following his line of sight.

“What does that even mean?” Hajime laughs, shaking his head.

“People say _Juan_ is the most likely to win,” Kunimi explains, looking bored. Hajime got to know him well enough to be aware that Kunimi is the unbothered type. He’s bad at pretending he cares about the noble gossip or Hajime’s hand in marriage. Similar to Kyoutani, he’s not here on his own will. That’s probably one of the reasons why Hajime likes him so much.

“Why is that?” The prince asks, furrowing his brows.

“You spend the most time with him.” Kunimi shrugs. “It’s like he already won, you’re all so wrapped up in each other.”

Hajime bursts out laughing, whole-heartedly amused. “You couldn’t be farther from the truth, Kunimi-kun,” he says, hiding his giggles behind the back of his hand. He’s not lying. He _tolerates_ Smug Asshole, but the thought of choosing _him_ as his husband makes him want to puke. He’s not very keen on having to endure him for a lifetime.

Kunimi blinks at him lazily, then shrugs again. “If you say so.”

“Don’t you believe me?”

“You’re a straightforward person, Your Highness. I don’t doubt your sincerity.”

During their conversation, Smug Asshole has made his way across to them, flashing Kunimi a forced smile. “Kunimi-chan! I believe it’s my turn to take my prince to a dance. Do you mind?”

Kunimi snorts. “Not at all. Go ahead.” He meets Hajime’s eyes. “I’ll see you later, Your Highness.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Hajime nods, finally turning his full attention to the bastard.

A new melody echoes in the room, and Smug Asshole gives Hajime a smile, honest this time. “May I have this dance?” He holds out his hand, waiting for Hajime to accept it.

Hajime sighs. “You may.” He takes the man’s hand, letting himself be pulled closer. Smug Asshole puts one of his hands on the small of Hajime’s back, pushing the prince even closer to his chest.

“I’ve been waiting all night to have you to myself,” Smug Asshole murmurs. He leads Hajime with practiced ease, not pushing too hard but assertive enough to be called a good dance partner.

Hajime raises a brow. “You’re in a mood.”

The man huffs, not looking at him. “How perceptive of you.”

“I don’t need your attitude,” Hajime chuckles.

“And I don’t need Mattsun-chan reminding me he had you first every other hour, but here we are,” Smug Asshole snaps, pouting.

Hajime represses a laugh. Smug Asshole looks miserable, defeated. He doesn’t know why, but Hajime takes pity on him.

“I never slept with him.”

Smug Asshole nearly trips, almost messing up their so-far perfect waltz. “What?”

“I never slept with Issei.”

Smug Asshole looks down at him, blinking in confusion. “But you said—”

“I lied. It was a joke. I wanted to piss you off, give you a taste of your own medicine.”

Smug Asshole gapes, bewildered. “Are you serious?”

Hajime sighs. “Yes. I’m serious.”

The joy shadowing over Smug Asshole’s face is frustratingly attractive. Hajime hates himself for thinking so.

“So I can still be your first?” He sounds genuinely happy. God, his voice is too sweet.

Hajime rolls his eyes. “It’s rude to ask a prince about his sexual experiences.”

“Well, it’s rude for a prince to lie about his sexual experiences just to annoy someone else, so we’ll call it even.”

Hajime laughs. Point taken.

Smug Asshole leads him to do a reverse turn, posture clean and feet certain in their steps. Again, he’s a good dancer. 

Hajime suddenly likes dancing.

“Meet me at your little pavilion after this,” Smug Asshole says.

“Why?”

Smug Asshole looks Hajime in the eyes, surprisingly serious. “I just like spending time with you.”

Hajime blinks, perplexed. “Okay,” he says softly, for lack of a better response.

<>

“Where are we going, Haji?” Issei asks around a yawn.

“Pavilion,” Hajime replies, looking over his shoulder. He stops in his tracks, noticing how tired his friend looks. “Sei, you’re dismissed. Go to sleep.”

Issei tilts his head. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. Now go,” Hajime ushers him. “Sleep well.”

Issei smiles. “Thanks. Night, then.”

Hajime hums, turning around to continue on the familiar pathway alone. When he gets there, he finds Smug Asshole sitting alone.

“Where’s Makki?” he announces his presence, not even bothering to greet the other.

“I was hoping I could get us alone, my prince,” Smug Asshole smiles. “Lucky me. Did you enjoy yourself tonight?”

Hajime takes a seat next to him, careful to leave enough space between them. “I did. I feel bad, though; the faces of the people I eliminated looked really...sad.”

“Is that empathy I hear? For _annoying, prickly noblemen_?” Smug Asshole teases, quoting Hajime. “I thought you didn’t care about them.”

“I’m not heartless.” Hajime shrugs.

“They entered this tournament knowing fully well there was a high chance of them losing,” Smug Asshole comments. “Don’t blame yourself for the rules.”

Hajime hums.

“But,” Smug Asshole continues, his tone lighter. “I have to admit, I’m pleasantly shocked. I thought you said you didn’t like me, my prince? And yet, here I am, still in-game.”

“Don’t get full of yourself,” Hajime warns playfully. “You’re just a good dancer.”

Smug Asshole huffs. “Of course I am. A prince has to be.”

  
  


_Pause. Rewind, please._

  
  


Did he just say—?

  
  


Hajime’s eyes widen, slowly turning to Smug Asshole.

Smug Asshole seems to realise his mistake, too.

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath, expression unbelieving of his slip-up. “I meant, uh—”

“You’re a prince,” Hajime states, jaw dropping. Then it dawns on him, putting two and two together. Smug Asshole said he's from Inari. Then, “You’re the Prince of Inari! You’re _Oikawa Tooru!_ ”

“No! No, no, no,” the man whines, burying his face in his palms. “Pretend I didn’t say anything, please. Go back to being stupid! This isn’t how it’s supposed to go!”

Hajime grins, beyond happy with himself. He stands up, pointing an accusing finger at the other, exclaiming; “You _bastard!_ I fucking _knew_ you looked familiar!”

“This is truly the worst,” Oikawa cries into his hands. It’s him. His name is Oikawa Tooru.

Hajime feels way too happy with himself. It’s just a name, isn’t it?

Yeah. Right.

“I should have known!” He sits back down, slapping the table. “Of course Inari’s prince would do _this._ I’ve heard about you. You dramatic motherfucker.”

Oikawa whines. “Shut up. You were supposed to find out in the end. What am I to do with my speech now? I made up a _great_ monologue about how I wanted you to fall for _me,_ not for my title. I was going to make you _cry._ ”

“I’m certain you were,” Hajime laughs. “So that’s how you convinced my father not to tell me? Being a prince?”

Oikawa huffs. “Your father is a lot more romantic than you are, Iwa-chan. King Kousuke-sama was actually quite fond of my _amazing_ idea.”

“I have no doubts that he was,” Hajime agrees, feeling cheeky. “Too bad not even the famous Oikawa Tooru is good enough to pull it off. How does it feel to ruin your own master plan?”

Oikawa glares at him. “Shut up, Iwa-chan. Let me wallow in my own misery in peace.”

“Feel free to,” Hajime laughs.

“You can’t tell anyone,” Oikawa grumbles. “At least let me have my grand entrance in the end. When you say, _ah, yes, I choose Oikawa Tooru as my beloved fiancé,_ and the crowd goes silent, they'll be like _what? Oikawa Tooru? Is that actually him?_ ” He says in a high-pitched voice, imitating...well, Hajime assumes he’s imitating a crowd. “That’s the least you could do for me.”

Hajime giggles. “Never in a million years will I marry you, bastard.”

Oikawa’s dejected expression falls, a knowing smile replacing it. “Sure, Iwa-chan. I’ll let you believe that for a little while longer.”

Hajime rolls his eyes. “How generous of you.” Then he shrugs. “But fine. I won’t tell anyone. Except Issei.”

Oikawa hums. “Fine.” A pause, and then he grins. “Seal the deal with a kiss?”

Hajime glares at him. “No.” His breath hitches, however, when he sees Oikawa already leaning in, eyes fixed on Hajime’s mouth.

“Oikawa—”

Oikawa presses his lips against Hajime’s cheek in a quick peck, pulling away as fast as he came.

Hajime flushes red, cheeks burning up. “I swear to the Twin Moons, you—”

“You’re adorable when you’re flustered,” Oikawa snickers. “I’d love to see you blush more. Just for me.”

Hajime looks away, huffing.

Seriously, what is he supposed to do with this guy?

<>

“Good morning, Kyoutani. What's wrong? You don’t seem happy.”

“Good morning, Your Highness,” the boy murmurs. He jerks his head in a nod, stiff and petulant.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of seeing you like this?” Hajime asks again, gentle.

Kyoutani huffs. “Tomorrow’s challenge. I don’t like complicated things.” He looks at the ground, practically glaring at it. “It’s like that Yahaba idiot. He talks in riddles, too.”

Hajime holds back a laugh. “Is that so?”

Kyoutani grumbles some more under his breath. “Yes. He pisses me off.”

“Sounds familiar, _princey,_ ” Issei notes cheekily.

“Shut your mouth,” Hajime barks, rolling his eyes. “Kyoutani, why don’t you try to work through your differences with Yahaba?”

“Because I hate him,” Kyoutani replies like it’s obvious. He’s a simple guy of simple sentences. He really doesn’t complicate things.

“Kentarou!”

Speak of the devil.

Kyoutani looks over his shoulder, glaring at Yahaba. “What now, Shigeru.”

“They’re on a first-name basis?” Issei whispers to Hajime. “That’s just hilarious. Ah, the melodramatics in this palace are astronomical.”

“You’re an idiot,” Hajime murmurs. “Kyoutani, I’ll leave you two to it.” Kyoutani grunts, turning his back to the prince.

“Iwa-chan!”

Hajime sighs. “Dear Twin Moons,” he curses under his breath. “When will my time of rest come? All I yearn for is a bit of _peace._ ”

Issei snickers, greeting Takahiro with a smile.

“Sei-chan.”

“Hiro-kun.”

Hajime raises an eyebrow. That’s weird. Since when did Issei and Takahiro get so familiar with each other?

Oikawa throws an arm over his shoulder, making him almost stumble. “Yes, our bodyguards had sex last night, Iwa-chan. Don’t act so dazzled.”

Hajime whips his head around, giving Issei a questioning look. All he gets is a shrug and a grin.

“You’re serious? I never thought Issei would even look at the likes of you.” He says, aiming his biting sentence at Oikawa.

Oikawa opens his mouth to protest, but Takahiro beats him to it. “I’m hurt, Your Highness. You think I’m anything like _To-chan_ here? That’s a severe insult.”

Oikawa gasps. “Makki-chan! How _dare_ you?” He glares at both his and Hajime’s bodyguard, who appear to be unbothered, making fun of him. “What _ever._ At least I have Iwa-chan.”

It’s Hajime’s time to laugh.

Oikawa huffs. “Oh, shut up, Your Sweetness. It’d be truly noble of you to admit you’re in love with me already, don’t you think?”

“I will not attest to such shameless lies,” Hajime says, delighted. “I suggest you give up and search for another prince for yourself.”

“I’m honoured by your concerns, my prince,” Oikawa grumbles, pulling his mouth into a thin line, pursing his lips. “But I have to kindly refuse.”

“I was certain you would,” Hajime sighs, the teasing tilt to his tone ever so present. Oikawa shakes his head, exasperated, but there’s a small smile he can’t hide forming on his lips.

“Ever so impolite to another prince,” Oikawa remarks. “Have you been taught no manners?”

“Wouldn’t _you_ like to know,” Hajime shoots back. His eyes widen a fraction, realisation dawning on him. He just flirted back. That’s what this is, isn’t it? They’re flirting, right? They have to be. Or maybe Hajime is just imagining things? Has Oikawa really got to him already?

Nah. No way. That’s silly.

  
  
  
  
  


Right?

<>

Oikawa snatches the first place in the third challenge, solving the riddles faster than anyone else. It’s a test of intelligence, to see how strategic Hajime’s future significant other is. The ten slowest challengers are eliminated. To Hajime’s relief, Kyoutani makes it, although barely.

“Impressed?” Oikawa asks him afterwards when he finds Hajime at the pavilion, a smug smile resting on his lips. He takes a seat across him, leaning on the table.

“Not exactly. You’re a prince, aren’t you? You have to be sharp to lead your people right,” Hajime shrugs. “So don’t get cocky with me, now.”

“Iwa-chan, you’re asking me to deny my true nature,” Oikawa points out, and Hajime finds himself unable to disagree. “It’s like me asking you to stop being so unreasonably cold to your future husband.”

“For the thousandth time, I’m not going to marry you.”

Oikawa grins. “It’s alright, my prince. I’ll give you as much time as you need to admit that you’re wrong on this matter.”

“I’m honoured,” Hajime murmurs, rolling his eyes. “What brings you here?”

“Aside from your delightful personality?” Oikawa asks back, his grin widening. “Not much.”

Hajime considers him for a second. “Don’t you ever get tired of annoying me?”

“Don’t you ever get tired of denying yourself _this_?” Oikawa gestures to his general being, infuriatingly cocky. “I admire your willpower, my prince.”

“I admire your tendency to live in a false reality,” Hajime retorts. “You’re quite persistent.”

“Of course,” Oikawa agrees. “You can pray to the Twin Moons as much as you want, my prince. I will not stop pursuing you until I can call you mine.” He adds a wink at the end of that, stupidly confident.

The corner of Hajime’s mouth twitches upwards, face heating up slightly. “I wish the best of luck with that. How’s it coming along so far, in your opinion?” He urges Oikawa on, amused.

Oikawa takes the bait. “We’ve made great progress till now. My charms are in full-effect.” He takes Hajime’s hand into his, bringing it up to his mouth, not losing eye-contact for even a second as he presses a gentle kiss against Hajime’s knuckles.

Hajime swallows subtly, struggling to control his expression. “I fail to see that, I’m afraid.”

Oikawa laughs. “No worries, my prince! As long as I know you’ve fallen for me, you can keep playing your beloved games.” He doesn’t let go of Hajime’s hand, laces their fingers together on instinct. He’s not _forcing_ Hajime into it, leaving just enough space for him to pull away if he wants, but Hajime indulges him today, surprisingly. Oikawa smiles at their joined hands, and Hajime’s gaze flickers to follow his line of sight, too, noting how Oikawa’s fingers are longer than his. It’s not significant enough of a size difference to irritate him. He finds himself thinking it quite pleasant, rather, shocking even himself. Since when did he start having thoughts like that?

“My ‘beloved games’ are just my merciful attempts at rejection, but you seem to be overlooking this simple fact,” Hajime says, eyes snapping back up to Oikawa’s face. He’s taken off-guard when he finds Oikawa already staring at him, with an expression so painfully _tender,_ Hajime’s heart skips a beat.

His first instinct is to flee.

Before Oikawa can open his mouth, he stands up, pulling away. “As pleasant as talking to you is, I’m afraid I have to excuse myself. I promised Kiyoko-san to take a ride with her.”

Oikawa blinks, like he’s been snapped out of his bubble. “Ah, Shimizu-chan? I guess we can’t help that. The princess _does_ love animals with a burning intensity.”

Hajime smiles, nodding. “She certainly does.” An awkward pause, then, “Until later, then.”

Oikawa hums, waving at him. Hajime turns on his heels, Issei strolling after him, quickly fleeing the scene.

“Hajime, with all due respect,” Issei speaks up once they’re out of hearing distance. “You’re a pussy.”

Hajime throws a glare at him over his shoulder. “I don’t want to hear this.”

“Tough luck, ‘cause I’m still going to say it,” Issei snorts, shrugging. “You were clearly having a moment there, until you shat your pants and ran off.”

“Issei,” Hajime growls, ears burning red. “I don’t want to have any _moments_ with him. Shut your mouth.”

Issei sighs. “You truly are hopeless, Haji,” he murmurs. “I’ll pray for your soul twice as hard, though there’s probably no saving you.”

“Very humorous, indeed,” Hajime grumbles. 

He takes a sharp turn to the right, the stable finally coming into view around the corner.

<>

Two days later, Hajime’s least favourite day of the year comes around.

The anniversary.

He stays in his room the entire morning, requesting breakfast in bed. Issei comes up to his chambers, dutifully leaning against the doorframe, wearing all-black.

Similar to Hajime.

Black tunic, black breeches, he sits on his balcony, resting his elbow on the parapet.

It’s been six years, but it still feels like a fresh wound.

Hajime watches the servants tend to the garden, the guards changing shifts, the way life is still bustling in the confines of the castle grounds, despite everything. He usually considers it a dear sight to him, but today, it’s unwelcome. He finds himself scowling at the people, finding it irritating how they all go about their lives, like today is just another normal day.

To most people, it probably is.

Hajime sighs, standing up. He exits his room, Issei following him. They meet Oikawa and Takahiro in front of the aisle leading to Hajime’s quarters.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa bows, not as lively as usual. Hajime is thankful for that. “May I accompany you?”

Hajime nods softly. He doesn’t speak up, so neither does anyone else. They pass through the castle in comfortable silence, though the atmosphere is a little fragile. Hajime heads outside, walking through the garden with determined steps.

Passing his favourite pavilion, he takes the dreaded pathway leading to the shrine, stopping short when he notices Oikawa pausing behind him.

“This part is off-limits for visitors, Iwa-chan,” he says quietly.

Hajime blinks. Oh. Right. “That’s okay. You can follow me.”

Oikawa nods, stepping over the border. Their feet screech against the gravel pathway, crumbling beneath their soles. They enter a courtyard surrounded by four red buildings, Hajime’s mother’s shrine standing tall and proud in the middle. The place is quiet to respect the peace of the deceased, cherry blossom trees planted all around. There’s a flowerbed in front of the concrete stairs, just of sunflowers. They’re out of season.

Hajime takes a deep breath. “We’re here.”

“I’ll wait outside,” Oikawa says softly.

“Thank you,” Hajime murmurs. He takes another shaky inhale before taking the first step up the stairs. Issei doesn’t follow him, staying right by Oikawa and Takahiro’s side, respecting Hajime’s privacy.

Hajime enters the shrine. The place is dimly lit by candles, smelling of incense. In the middle of the room, stands a statue of his mother, beautiful and delicate. Hajime has forgotten by now how his mother looks, but he remembers thinking no artwork will ever give the same impression as the real person.

He walks around it, eyes falling on the altar. Another row of lit candles stand behind a lonely picture frame and there’s a dead sunflower laid before it. Her grave lays beyond the altar, the separate statues of the Twin Moons standing on each side.

Hajime kneels down on the mat before the altar, sitting in seiza, gaze fixed on the picture frame. He lights a candle, bowing to the Twin Moons, greeting them respectfully.

His hands fall on his thighs. He swallows.

“Hey, Mom,” he says weakly, the sting of tears already collecting in his eyes. He’s still the same crybaby he was six years ago. “It’s been a while.”

Every cell in his body is aching. His heart wants to tear itself out of his chest, throat squeezing tight around his words, making him choke on them.

“How have you been?” He smiles sadly, wiping his eyes. “I imagine it’s tiring to have to watch over Dad and me all the time,” he laughs. “We’re no better than we used to be. Dad is just as hopeless. I might have got that quality from him.” He looks down at his hands, clenching the material of his pants. “It’s hard not to be, without you guiding us.”

He exhales, breath trembling. He purses his lips. “I miss you every single day, Mom.” He sniffles, collecting himself a little before continuing. “I don’t know if Dad told you, but we’re holding a tournament for me. I’m about to be set for life,” he chuckles, closing his eyes. There’s really no stopping his tears now. They flow down his cheeks freely, as Hajime releases all the pent-up emotions he tucked away deep inside his chest. He wants to see his mother again. “I wish you were here to help me. I’m really just a clueless child.”

He sniffles again, opening his eyes, his vision blurry. His head is starting to hurt, too, from how much he’s feeling. He still can’t quite grasp the concept of losing her; he has so much more love to give, so many things to tell her and she’s not there to listen anymore. Hasn’t been, since six years ago.

“I wish you could tell me what to do. Life down here is so boring without you,” he confesses. “I’m sorry for not coming here as often anymore. I’m trying to the best of my abilities to accept... _this._ I hope you understand.” He wipes his tears away with the back of his hand again, shaky. “Thank you for taking care of me, even from the other side. I know you probably don’t always have the patience for me, but still. Thank you, Mom.”

“I’ll probably come by tomorrow, too. I ought to spend some quality time with you. There are people waiting for me outside right now. You don’t mind, right?” He laughs at himself. “I hope I’m not bothering you now, either. You always told me I complain too much, after all.” He smooths out the material of his breeches, gentle. “It’s been getting worse, too. I met a guy,” he hesitates, biting down on his lip. Is he really about to tell his mother about Oikawa? Then he shakes his head. “He gets on my nerves, but I don’t think I mind it that much anymore. I should probably tell him that, but he’ll just grow even more annoying.” Hajime smiles to himself. “I think you’d like him, actually.”

He looks back up at the picture frame, his mother’s eternal smile staring right back at him. “I’m doing well, Mom, so don’t worry about me. I promise to make you proud, so take care of yourself for me, okay?” He sniffles again. “I love you.”

He stays there for a little more, sighing softly. He smiles at the painting in the picture frame, the lines a little blurry. He’s forgotten what colour her eyes were. 

“I’ll see you later, Mom,” he finally whispers, getting up from the ground, blowing the candle out. It’s time to leave. He can’t stay too long, or he’ll get in a headspace and open up wounds that shouldn’t be touched. He bows twice again to the deities, turning around, forcefully tearing his gaze away from the altar.

When he exits the shrine into the sunlit courtyard, his eyes meet Issei’s, then Oikawa’s. They’re waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs.

Oikawa is looking at him like he’s seeing him for the first time. His gaze is intense enough to make Hajime uncomfortable; he’s staring at him blatantly, completely unabashed, like Hajime’s soul has been laid out in front of him. It makes Hajime feel unnaturally vulnerable.

“What?” He asks self-consciously, turning his face away.

“Nothing,” Oikawa replies, shaking his head. “It’s a beautiful place.”

Hajime nods, eyes fixed on the ground. “Yeah.” That’s all he says, and then he starts walking away from it, leaving his mother behind. Oikawa follows him not long after, catching up to him quickly. He doesn’t speak up, and Hajime appreciates it. Oikawa is patient with him, and Hajime can’t be thankful enough.

They make it to his dearest pavilion. Hajime slips into his favourite spot, leaning forward to rest his arms on the table. Oikawa hesitates, shifting his weight from one leg to another, until Hajime nods at him and gestures at the free space next to him.

Oikawa sits down, wary of keeping out of Hajime’s personal space. He has his hands in his lap, looking ahead of himself but momentarily stealing glances at Hajime.

Hajime sighs. He lets himself get lost in the moment for a little, content with sitting in silence. Oikawa doesn’t bother his peace, just sits patiently, waiting for Hajime to initiate a conversation if he wants to.

Hajime eventually clears his throat. “My mother was a sickly woman,” he croaks out, voice husky. “She’s always been weak, but her condition worsened after I was born,” he continues. “Despite the medic’s suggestions, she didn’t rest as much as she was supposed to. I think I got my recklessness from her,” he smiles to himself. “This was her favourite pavilion. We used to come out here a lot when I was younger, and she would tell me stories of my ancestors.”

He bites down on his bottom lip, shoulders shaking. He takes a deep breath. “Six years ago, at the end of summer, she caught a cold. She had dressed too lightly, hadn’t taken the change of seasons seriously enough.” He feels like crying again.

Oikawa reaches out, placing his hand on top of his. “Hajime,” he murmurs gently. “It is alright. You don’t have to tell me.”

Hajime shakes his head. “I want to,” he breathes weakly, sucking in a sharp inhale. “She said she’d recover in no time, like she always had.” A pathetic noise escapes his throat, unable to push it down. “This one time, she was wrong.”

Yeah, Hajime is definitely crying again. He sniffs, trying to pull his hands away from under Oikawa’s warm palm, but the other doesn’t let him. Oikawa reaches out, cupping Hajime’s cheek in his other hand, brushing the lonely tear away from his eye with his thumb.

Hajime can’t meet his gaze. He looks down, pursing his lips. “I would do anything to bring her back,” he whispers. “I really would.”

Oikawa smiles at him sadly. It doesn’t even reach his eyes. He shushes Hajime. “I know, love. It’s okay.”

Hajime leans against his palm, needing the comfort. “Sorry,” he mumbles.

“Don’t be,” Oikawa scolds softly. Hajime doesn’t want to think about how his heart skips several beats, feeling cared for and doted on. The security of Oikawa’s arms never seemed so inviting.

And Hajime, for once, doesn’t run away from it. He lets himself be pulled in, head falling on Oikawa’s shoulder, feeling emotionally drained. The angle is a bit awkward, so Oikawa pulls Hajime’s legs over his lap, now half on top of him. He keeps one of his hands at the back of Hajime’s head, fingers combing through his hair, the other settling over Hajime’s thighs, massaging circles into his skin.

The first thing Hajime realises is how good Oikawa smells. Not too strong nor feint, plain and simple yet sweet, enticing. The second thing is how warm he is, how safe his presence feels. Hajime is drowning in it, not even caring about maintaining his pride anymore. He lets himself fall into Oikawa, fucking finally, allows himself to revel in it.

Oikawa presses a kiss to the top of his head, and—okay.

Maybe he lied. Maybe Oikawa really has him wrapped around his little finger. Somewhat. 

<>

The next day, Hajime’s morning is spent dealing with Issei’s shit.

“Are we not going to talk about this?” Issei asks, an underlying mischief hidden in his voice. “I think we should.”

“What is there to talk about?” Hajime shoots back, busying himself with tending to his sword.

“Um, the fact that you seem to be madly in love with Oikawa?” Issei suggests, seemingly enjoying himself.

“I’d rather not talk about something that’s not even true, Sei.”

“Pussy.”

“Stop calling me that.” Hajime glares at him. “I’m very much serious.”

“Yes, seriously brain-damaged,” Issei sighs. 

Hajime shakes his head. “Believe what you want.” And then, swiftly, he changes the subject. “How’s Makki?”

Issei looks momentarily taken aback. Then he shrugs, aiming for the adjective ‘nonchalant’. “What do I know?”

That stops Hajime in his tracks. “Weren’t you two…?”

“We had sex. Once. That’s all there is to it.”

Hajime stares at him, deadpan and all. He’s not impressed. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Why would I be?”

Hajime furrows his brows, clear disgust on his face. “And you dare to call _me_ brain-damaged?” He asks, unbelieving. “Don’t hope for even a second that I buy your shit.”

Issei snorts. “Fine. We...talk. Kind of.”

Hajime wants to hit him with a chair. “You _talk._ ”

“Yes.” Issei nods, sure of himself. “His room is located at the Eastern Wing, so he’s not far from me. We happen to stumble across each other a lot.”

Hajime stares at him, unblinking. “And you... _talk._ ”

“Precisely. Are you having a hard time understanding that word? It seems to be giving you trouble.”

Hajime opens his mouth, then closes it. Pinches the bridge of his nose. Looks back up to Issei again. “Define _talk_ for me.”

“The act of speaking in order to exchange information or express ideas or feelings.”

“Not like _that,_ idiot.”

Issei shrugs. “We’re just getting to know each other. There’s no guarantee that he will stay here for long, so there’s no point in going further. Unless,” he gives Hajime a nasty grin, full of shit, “you’re willing to marry Oikawa.”

Hajime’s expression falls. “Right.”

Issei smiles. “No sarcastic response?”

“No sarcastic response,” Hajime confirms, grumbling.

<>

Later that day, Hajime enters the Library, looking for something to occupy himself with.

To his utmost surprise, he finds Kyoutani and Oikawa there (with Takahiro and Kyoutani's own bodyguard a few steps behind each of them), standing at the other side of the room, in front of a huge window. They don’t seem to realise Hajime’s presence, however, too invested in their conversation. Oikawa is in the middle of speaking, and Hajime doesn’t mean to, but the air carries his voice to him, making him unintentionally eavesdrop.

“Isn’t that absolutely _adorable_? My Iwa-chan is capable of forming a connection with even you. However,” A pause. “Make sure you don’t get too attached, _Kyoken-chan._ ” Hajime’s eyes widen, goosebumps rising on his skin. The way Oikawa just said Kyoutani’s name sounded positively _terrifying._

  
Kyoutani takes a few steps back, wary of the other. His eyes are narrowed, suspiciously watching Oikawa. “I’m not interested in Iwaizumi-san that way.”

“It’s not a question of whether you’re interested or not,” Oikawa sing-songs, lightheartedly waving at Kyoutani. “But a warning! Just saying, Kyoken-chan. Know your boundaries.”

Hajime narrows his eyes. That’s a step too far. 

“What are you doing?”

Oikawa perks up at his voice, and Kyoutani’s shoulders relax, tension leaving him.

“Ah, Iwa-chan! What a pleasant surprise!”

Hajime tuts. His feet carry him over to them, chin held high, his aura giving away his anger. “Kyoutani, do you mind leaving us for now? I’ll send for you in a bit.”

Kyoutani grunts. “Of course.” He stomps away, irritated, the door slamming shut behind him. 

Hajime diverts his attention to Oikawa. “Did you seriously just _threaten_ him?”

Oikawa crosses his arms, leaning against the window frame. “Strong wording, Iwa-chan. I just gave him a slight warning. I had to make sure he was aware of my claim on you.”

Hajime hasn’t felt this angry in a long time. “I am not an object you can own, Oikawa, so kindly refrain from treating me like one.” He says slowly, measured. Oikawa seems to realise just how pissed off he is, his confidence visibly thinning. “This tournament provides equal chances to every challenger. If you violate our rules, you will end up disqualified.”

Oikawa tsks. “I didn’t threaten him! And he’s not even _interested_ in you, Iwa-chan!”

Hajime clenches his fists, trying to control himself. Hitting Oikawa wouldn’t be very professional. “I’m aware, and I do not care. I won’t listen to the excuses of someone who can’t play fair and square.”

“I didn’t break any of your rules!” Oikawa cries out, defensive. “Makki can attest to that!”

Hajime’s gaze drifts to Takahiro. Takahiro sighs, nodding—and, okay, maybe Hajime shouldn’t take his word for granted, because he’s _Oikawa’s_ man, but Takahiro doesn’t seem like the type to lie. Especially not about matters of the like. Hajime had the chance to get to know him almost as much as Oikawa, considering that the two always moved together. Takahiro wouldn’t betray him like this.

Hajime looks back at Oikawa, staring him right in the eye. “Fine. But the next time I catch you bullying Kyoutani, or _anyone_ else here, you’re out of my castle,” he says sternly, certainty ringing loudly behind his words. He was taught that a pushover king is not a good king, and that sentiment was apparent in his upbringing. He’s the heir of Johsai, of fucking course he knows how to put his foot down. He’s required to.

Oikawa lowers his head, waving the metaphorical white flag. “Understood, Your Highness.”

Hajime nods, satisfied.

“Wow. You were actually cool for once,” Issei breaks the atmosphere.

Hajime closes his eyes. “I am going to decapitate you.”

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa chirps, back to his bright personality. 

“What is it?”

“I’m waiting.”

Hajime raises a brow. “For?”

“For my kiss, obviously,” Oikawa says as if Hajime is stupid to ask. “As a peace offering.”

Hajime hums in understanding. To everyone’s surprise, he takes a step forward, placing his hand on Oikawa’s shoulder. Oikawa’s eyes widen, taken aback when Hajime starts leaning in— _is he really—_

Hajime turns his head at the last second, warm breath hitting Oikawa’s ear. “Tough luck.”

Of fucking course.

Well, two can play at this game.

Before Hajime can pull away, Oikawa grabs him by the chin, regaining his composure. He smiles down at Hajime, turning the tables, and Oikawa too, leans in. “Well-played, Iwa-chan,” he whispers. Difference between them is, Oikawa is not a fucking pussy. He presses his lips against Hajime’s cheek, almost touching the corner of his mouth, lingering there for a few seconds. And then he straightens up, letting go of Hajime, whose face is burning up, shell-shocked.

Silence stretches between them, with Hajime flustered to his bones and Oikawa visibly satisfied with himself.

Issei breaks it. “Hiro-kun.”

“Yes?”

“How much trouble would we get for leaving them right now?”

Takahiro shrugs. “Let’s find out.”

Hajime spins on his heels, grabbing Issei by the arm, dragging him towards the door. “You’re not going anywhere, bastard.”

Issei sighs, shooting Takahiro an apologetic look. “Next time, Hiro-kun.”

Takahiro grins. “I’ll be looking forward to it, Sei-chan.”

Hajime practically yanks Issei out the door, slamming it behind him. He leans against the wall, sliding down till he’s crouching, face buried in his hands.

Issei blinks, tilting his head curiously. “Oh? _That_ bad?”

Hajime groans, muffled behind his palms. “I hate him. I can’t stand him.”

“Clearly,” Issei snorts. “Come on, princey. You might want to break down elsewhere, they could come after us any minute.”

A tortured sound escapes Hajime’s throat, standing up, running his hand through his hair. He takes off to his chambers, fuming to himself the same words over and over again, like _he’s so annoying, playing his damned games, I hate him so much—_

Issei follows him dutifully, hiding a yawn behind his hand. Today is looking out to be a long, tiring day.

<>

A few days later, Hajime is standing on his balcony, leaning against the edge, watching the scenery before him.

The fourth challenge marks one month of knowing Oikawa. Every week, all his suitors fought just to stay in the tournament, and now they’re here, with only twenty of them.

If the first challenge was his favourite, this is a close second. 

Taming.

They’re heading out in two hours, to the small pine forest Hajime’s mother used to take him when he was a child. It’s not too far away, conveniently, and hasn’t been touched by hunters in a long time. Hajime’s mother made sure that the fauna was left unbothered, having seen the conditions of the forest for herself. The place has been forbidden for hunters ever since, out of the so-called _sensitivity_ of the Queen. Hajime likes to think it was more about _humanity._

He pushes nostalgia to the back of his mind, taking a deep inhale of fresh air, clearing his head. It has been a while since he last visited the forest. He has no idea how to feel about it.

“Haji,” Issei calls for him softly. “There’s someone who wants to see you.”

Hajime doesn’t turn around. The challengers are not allowed to his quarters, so it can’t be Oikawa. Not even he’s bold enough to cross the set boundaries.

“Send them in,” Hajime says absentmindedly. The autumn breeze gets caught in his messy locks, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Hajime pulls his cloak tighter around himself, but he doesn’t necessarily mind a little bit of chill weather. He has a gentle appreciation for autumn and winter, despite how nasty of a season both are.

The door to his room opens, and without having to look, Hajime knows it’s King Kousuke.

“Son.” As expected, his dad steps inside, gently grabbing Hajime’s attention. “Are you feeling unwell? You shouldn’t stay outside for too long, lest you catch a cold.”

Hajime shakes his head, heart melting in his chest. “Don’t worry so much, Dad. I’m perfectly fine.”

King Kousuke walks beside him, eyes taking in the scenery, too. “You haven’t left your room since morning,” he states. “Are you certain there’s nothing wrong?”

Hajime hums, warmth filling him. “I am. I haven’t been feeling up to much conversation. I’ll have plenty of it later today, I reckon.”

King Kousuke chuckles, placing a hand on Hajime’s shoulder. “You’re right. Are you looking forward to it?”

Hajime shrugs, not having much to say. “Not specifically. It’s just another challenge, is it not?”

King Kousuke laughs again, nodding in agreement. “It is. I was hoping you’d be more excited, however.”

Hajime blinks, tilting his head in his father’s way. “I do anticipate it to a certain extent. More than I was expecting myself.” He shrugs. “Guess I did grow attached to some of them, after all.”

King Kousuke flashes him a knowing smile. “Clearly.” Then he looks down at the garden, only a few people present in this cold weather. The sky has turned a dull grey, painting the view with sad strokes of nothingness. A bit of fog has settled, too.

King Kousuke sighs softly, reminiscent. “I hope someone captures a deer. Your mother was especially fond of them.”

Hajime huffs. “I know. I doubt anyone can tame such a shy creature, though. Kiyoko-san might be able to, but all the others are just too loud and rough for catching one. They’re not cut out for such tasks.”

“Is that so?” King Kousuke teases. “You do seem to have grown close to them, huh?”

Hajime rolls his eyes. “There’s no point in denying it,” he murmurs. “I do enjoy their company. Whoever will win, I’m certain I won’t get tired of them for a long, long time.”

King Kousuke laughs warmly, ruffling his son’s hair. “What a relief. Wouldn’t want my little Hajime to be grumpy for the rest of his life.”

Hajime grunts. “You’re just as humorous as ever, Dad.”

“And you’re just as cold to your father, kid,” his father retorts. 

“I’m not cold,” Hajime denies. “I’m just standing my ground against you, old man.”

King Kousuke huffs, crossing his arms. “What a disrespectful child,” he murmurs. “I’m not even _that_ old.”

“You’re basically a relic, Dad.”

King Kousuke opens his mouth to reply but decides against it, seeing the smile on Hajime’s face. He leaves it at that, shaking his head fondly. 

His son has really grown up, hasn’t he?

“Any particular favourites?” He asks, a playful look shadowing over his face. “Maybe Juan?”

Hajime laughs. “I know he’s an Oikawa. You can stop calling him that.”

Amusement fills King Kousuke, and he reaches over to good-naturedly tug on Hajime’s ear. “You seem to have taken a liking to him.”

Hajime’s face falls, not happy with the implication. His father has always been good at spotting the changes in Hajime’s expression, noticing the little things. Of course he caught on.

“I don’t... _hate_ him, I guess you could say.” He hears Issei laugh behind them, finding it oh so funny that Hajime still can’t admit to the most important things. His love language has always been physical touch, not words of affirmation - he’s not good at that.

“Are you certain that is all there is to it? I have my doubts about your honesty,” his dad pushes further, urging him on.

Hajime tsks. “Fine! I like him.” He fumbles with his hands nervously. “Maybe. But I don’t want to, for he’s everything I was against up ‘til now. He’s cocky, smug and throws a tantrum when he doesn’t get his way, and it pisses me off. He's a nightmare, honestly.” He grimaces. “What’s even worse, is that I still like his shitty personality, because I _know_ his annoying act is not all there is to it.” He buries his face in his hands, face burning up in embarrassment. “Was it like this for you when you met mom?”

King Kousuke smiles at his son in empathy, rubbing his back in reassurance. The question brings back a few memories, each of them very dear to him, squeezing his heart tightly.

“The way I remember, I was the one getting on your mother’s nerves, most of the time.”

Hajime groans, resigned, arms falling back on the parapet. “Of course you were. I shouldn’t have asked.”

His father gives him a cheeky grin, a little boyish for his age. “But son, look how great that turned out for us! I was a very charming fellow, I’ll have you know. My first, proudest achievement in my life was wooing your mom and marrying her.”

Hajime rolls his eyes. Cheesy. “What’s the second?”

King Kousuke’s expression softens, reaching out to ruffle Hajime’s hair again, despite the man’s protesting grumbles. “You, of course.”

Dear Twin Moons, his father really is lame. He’s always had a way with words, charming in his cheesy, old-man way. Hajime is beginning to see the cinematic parallels between Oikawa and his dad. He’s sure they get along _so_ well.

Hajime sighs. “Wow. Thanks a bunch, I guess.”

King Kousuke laughs. “Is it really that difficult for you to say ‘I love you’ to me?”

Hajime turns his head to look his father straight in the eyes, keeping his face neutral. “Yes.”

King Kousuke whines, like he’s some kind of child, melodramatic to the extremes. “You wound me, son! How can you be so cruel to your own father?”

“Cut it out, old man,” Hajime laughs. “I love you. Happy?”

“Very,” his father chirps, his smile audible in his voice. “And I love you, too, Hajime. I shall be taking my leave now, though. I still have a few matters at hand that need to be revised before we head out.”

“Alright.” Hajime nods, waving him off. “I will see you later, Dad.”

King Kousuke gives his son a last pat on the back before he leaves him and Issei alone. 

“As lively as ever, isn’t he?” Hajime sighs, throwing a glance at Issei. “Especially for his age. Dear Twin Moons.”

“At least he’s not boring, like you,” Issei quips, teasing. “But princey, Kousuke-sama actually managed to make you be honest with yourself,” he points out. Hajime should’ve known Issei wouldn’t let it go that easily. “I still have a lot to learn, huh.”

“I just wanted him to shut up and leave,” Hajime argues. “But no matter what I tell you, you can’t leave my side. There’s a difference.”

“I’m sure that was your only reason,” Issei says, totally not believing him. This bastard never stops trying out new ways to piss Hajime off. For his own entertainment, no less. “You want to hear something funny, Haji?”

Hajime is pretty sure he doesn’t, if it’s Issei offering. Regardless, he still asks, “What is it?”

“I was talking to Hiro the other day,” Issei starts. “And apparently, to his utmost annoyance, Oikawa can’t shut up about you. You’re all he talks about.” Hajime’s eyes widen. Issei chuckles knowingly, continuing. “ _Would Iwa-chan like this? Would this impress him? Does he like this kind of thing? Does he have a preference in this matter?_ ” he imitates Oikawa in a high-pitched voice, twisting it to a girly tone just because he’s _hilarious_ like that. “Hiro is tired of it.”

“I’d be tired of him, too, if I had to listen to Oikawa all day,” Hajime mutters off-handedly, unable to stop himself. It comes as second-nature to him, at this point, insulting Oikawa. It’s a shitty defensive mechanism, he knows, but what can he do? He’s always been a bit too prideful to stand down, and he’s come this far already. Well.

“Oh, come on. We both know you have it bad for him. You’re literally smiling just at the thought of him,” Issei notes, and Hajime realises that he’s _right._ His lips are curved upwards without his knowing, unconsciously tugged into a grin. He hides behind his hands on instinct, ears and cheeks burning in embarrassment. 

Him? _Lovesick_? That’s disgusting.

_Doesn’t make it any less true,_ Issei’s voice rings in his head.

Hajime squeezes his eyes shut, getting a little overwhelmed with himself.

_I know. Shut up. Shut up, shut up, shut up. I don’t want to hear it._

“Haji,” Issei calls for him, echoing distantly in Hajime’s ears. “What’s so bad about liking him?”

Hajime sucks in a sharp breath, blinking his eyes open. He tries to think of a response, coming up empty-handed. Damn it.

“Nothing,” he breathes. “That’s my problem.”

Issei laughs. Like, he actually _laughs,_ deep and warm and whole-hearted. “You’re a difficult man, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told,” Hajime shoots back, but there’s no bite to his words. Then he asks, more serious, spiked with a bit of nervousness. “Is it really okay for me to admit this? It’s embarrassing.”

“You and your pride,” Issei murmurs, exasperated. “Yes, Haji. It’s okay for you to like whoever you want. Oikawa is fun, too.”

Hajime winces, the corner of his mouth curving downwards. “I know I can like whoever I want, but... _him? Really?_ When have my standards reached this low of a level?”

Issei giggles. “Now you’re just being an asshole.”

Hajime grins, eyes glinting with mirth. “I’m well-aware.”

<>

Slumping comfortably back in the saddle, Hajime halts his horse to a walk, keeping her in check on a tight rein. Surprisingly, today’s weather seems to edge on the warmer side; a thin cloak is enough to keep out the cold from sneaking under his skin. The wind isn’t too strong, either, just a little bit of a nuisance from sideways, but it carries warmth, blowing from the West.

Watari flashes Hajime a kind smile, greeting him politely. “Your Highness! What a pleasure to see you again. How are you doing?”

Hajime can feel the tension leave his shoulders - he wasn’t even aware how uptight he was. Watari’s presence is a soothing, gentle one and it puts him at ease, no matter where they are.

“I’m doing well, thank you. I’ll admit, I’m quite excited; I haven’t left the castle grounds in ages. This is relaxing, being out here once again.”

“I have no doubt it is,” Watari comments with a small grin. “You certainly look like you are in high spirits.”

Hajime sighs, nodding in agreement. “I am. But what about you, Shinji-kun? Are you excited?”

A dark shadow overcomes Watari’s bright smile, melting it off his face. He glares ahead, staring at nothing. “As long as I don’t run into Yahaba or Kyoutani, I’m good.”

Unable to swallow down his giggles, Hajime bites down on his lower lip to hide his smirk. “How come?”

Watari lets out a long, exasperated groan, holding onto the reins with only one hand to bury his face in the other. “You don’t understand, Your Highness. They’re _hopeless._ ”

“Please, do fill me in.”

Watari’s hand falls, giving Hajime a miserable, desperate look. “It got worse since last time. You remember how we _finally_ managed to persuade Yahaba into confessing?”

Hajime snorts. “I could never forget such a hopeless conversation.”

Watari tuts. “Right. So Yahaba finally collected the courage to approach him. It would’ve been fine, if it wasn’t for the simple fact that he’s an _idiot._ He cannot, for the love of the Twin Moons, use his head for once.”

“What did he do?” Hajime urges Watari on, disgustingly invested in his suitors’ love life.

“I can’t say for sure, Yahaba didn’t tell me what exactly happened, but it’s clear as day. Kyoutani didn’t understand a few implications and the hidden meaning behind Yahaba’s words, so he got mad. Because Yahaba can’t just straight up say _hey, I like you_ like a normal person.”

Hajime bursts out laughing, leaning forward in his saddle. His horse frisks under him, ready to break out into a trot, but Hajime holds her back, patting down her neck in a soothing manner. “Allow me to guess; Kyoutani lashed out on him and Yahaba took it to heart, because he thought Kyoutani was rejecting him.”

"To the letter, Your Highness. Yahaba assumed Kyoutani was making fun of him, so now he’s angry at him. And Kyoutani is angry right back at him, but also confused.”

Hajime shakes his head, smiling fondly. He’s met quite a few morons, hasn’t he? Who would’ve thought he’d grow so attached to them, though. Seriously.

“You know they’ll need your help to sort it out, right?” He gives Watari a knowing look.

“Unfortunately, I do,” he says, his expression the epitome of aggravated. “I thought the rules only allowed adults in here, but I stand corrected. I feel like I’m surrounded by dumb children.”

“Truer words have never been spoken,” Issei butts into their conversation. Hajime hasn’t noticed him catching up, he was so distracted by Watari’s story. 

“Oh, Matsukawa-san! I was wondering where you were.”

Issei waves at Watari. “Yo,” he says, his trademark lazy smile intact. “Made it just in time for the morale of the story. Hajime, what do you think?”

Hajime’s face falls into a deadpan, raising a questioning brow. “What are you trying to say?”

“Grow some balls and just straight-up tell Juan you like him, instead of playing games,” Issei replies, careful not to reveal Oikawa’s identity. Hajime glowers, cut off by Watari’s laugh.

“There’s some truth to Matsukawa-san’s words, Your Highness.”

Hajime’s eye twitches in annoyance. Not this again. 

“Ah, yes, Watari, thank you so much for your input. It’s very much appreciated,” Issei hums, the shit he is. 

“Your silence would be even more so, Sei,” Hajime throws at him, tilting his chin up. “Go back to courting Makki or something.”

Watari snorts at the two of them, finding their exchange quite entertaining. The castle grounds became the venue of a huge, ridiculous soap opera this last month. It's getting out of hand. 

Big sigh.

<>

The moment the forest peeks over the horizon, an overwhelming amount of nostalgia overcomes Hajime, sucking the air out of his lungs. It’s like he’s a kid all over again, and instead of the horde of servants, guards and nobilities, it’s his mother by his side with a minimal group of bodyguards. It’s his mother’s white horse, Helena trotting beside him instead of Watari’s dark stallion, and it’s his mother’s soothing voice reminiscing to him about her childhood instead of Issei’s snarky comments.

Hajime is an adult now, though.

They get there in no time, considering. The fresh air feels lighter in his lungs, the sole sight of such a familiar picture easing him. It brings him a strange sense of comfort, not quite like _coming home,_ but close to it.

“Ah, so this is it,” Watari says. “It’s very pretty.”

Hajime nods in agreement. “It always has been.”

Watari hums, realisation glinting in his eyes. He leaves it at that.

Hajime bids him goodbye politely, urging his horse into a trot to catch up to his father. 

They arrive at the venue like that, tents standing nearby in a row; King Kousuke’s men had to come here a few days prior to set up the podium the royal family will be seated on. It’s a roofed, wooden structure, not too big. It’s approximately one feet above the ground, but Hajime knows it serves a symbolic purpose, rather than anything else. 

He dismounts from his horse, patting her on the neck as a reward. A guard takes the reins out of his hands with a polite bow, leading her away to the impromptu saddle behind the tents.

“Iwa-chan!”

Ah, yes. The silence was way too good to be true.

Hajime turns around, his brow already raised in question, hand on his hips. Oikawa walks over to where he is, throwing his leg over his horse’s back, getting off. The smile he flashes Hajime is innocent, but Hajime knows better. Oikawa is nothing if not a cunning, sly flirt.

“May I help you?”

“Actually, yes. I’m here to ask for a good luck charm from you. A kiss, perhaps?”

“It’d be for the best if you refrained from getting ahead of yourself,” Hajime playfully scolds. “Overconfidence is a _good luck charm_ for failure.”

“No need to be so harsh.” Oikawa waves him off, his smile widening. The glint in his eyes gets brighter, the sun reflecting in his orbs - it looks even warmer than usual, the caramel-like colour taking a shining edge to it. “All I did was offer an innocent request. My intentions were solely pure and based on my undying affection for you.”

“Innocent, you say,” Hajime snorts, rolling his eyes. “If you say so. Either way, I’ll have to kindly decline.”

Oikawa pouts. He reminds Hajime of a five-year old. “Shame. Next time, then?”

“Keep on dreaming.” Hajime crosses his arms, challenging. The smile tugging at his lips is a real traitor.

“I don’t think I have to,” Oikawa shoots back, taking the bait. “I’m getting closer to defeating that stubbornness of yours, little by little, my prince.”

Half of Hajime wants to deny it vehemently, the other half wants to agree. Oikawa doesn’t have to know how true his words are - even though he probably does, no matter what Hajime claims. Whatever. Hajime has _just_ started to enjoy the game they play.

He opens his mouth to give Oikawa another playful jab, but his father pulls him to his side, shooting Oikawa an apologetic smile. King Kousuke raises his hand, and the small buzzing conversations come to a halt, everyone diverting their attention to the monarch. Hajime finds his place behind his father, sitting down. Issei stands to his right, arms crossed, usual droopy eyes fleetingly glancing at the crowd until it settles on someone - Hajime doesn’t need to think too hard who it is. The lazy smile Issei flashes them - this weird mix of affection and amusement - is reserved solely for Takahiro.

Hajime follows his line of sight, gaze sliding over to watch Oikawa make his way back to the other suitors. His steps are full of grace, something Hajime has realised a long time ago. Everything he does, the way he carries himself, the way he talks, the act he puts up in front of important people - there’s a certain air around him, elegant in an instinctive way.

Tearing his gaze away from him, Hajime takes in the others. They all look excited to an extent, Kindaichi more on the nervous side, while on the other hand, Shimizu’s expression looks as neutral as any other day.

Yahaba gives him a small wave, which Hajime returns earnestly, warmth fluttering inside his chest. He really did grow fond of some people here, as surprised as he is about it.

King Kousuke declares the exact rules of the fourth challenge, his strong, bass voice booming through the air - the time limit, the weapons they’re allowed to use, the means they can use to catch their animal, all the basics. Admittedly not paying much attention, Hajime represses a yawn, resting his chin in his palm, propped on his elbow. The feeling of being watched by so many people is nothing unusual - as Crown Prince of Johsai, he’s prone to get used to it. And yet, he can’t help but look Oikawa’s way, sensing his eyes burn holes into Hajime. 

Oikawa smiles, but his gaze is just as intense, not taking it off Hajime for even a second. It would serve as a great source of discomfort, normally, but Hajime remains unbothered, weirdly enough. He raises a brow, unsure if Oikawa can see it, but the idiot must notice it because he sends a flying kiss his way. Ugh. Stupid.

Not long after, his father orders everyone to get ready. There’s not much movement, everyone having already prepared adequately for the challenge. Hajime catches Kyoutani checking on his dagger one last time, similar to the others, making sure everything is in place to busy themselves. The last touches don’t take much time, and in five short minutes, King Kousuke rises from his seat again, this time Hajime following.

And then, the fourth challenge starts.

  
  
  


Hajime loses himself in idle chatter, Issei talking his ear full. His father listens in, supplying his own knowledge into the conversation, although he seems to have a better grasp of the fact that Hajime isn’t paying much attention. The bristling sound of trees is like music to his ears, reducing the discussion he’s supposed to take part of into simple background noise. He blinks at the forest owlishly, longing. Oh, how he wishes he could go in there, too, to be a challenger himself instead of sitting on his ass all day, waiting to evaluate people based on their physical skills. It’s _boring._ And still, he sits, looking at the rocky mountains in the faraway horizon, the sinewy parts leading to the deeper parts of a forest. Slowly, his gaze slides back to the scenery in front of him, a subconscious grimace pulling at his face. He wants to explore the forest again, wants to freshen the experience one more time, but he knows it would be different. He hasn’t been back in years; it wouldn’t be the same without his mother.

A few minutes later, he perks up, sensing footsteps coming closer, rustling the leaf-litter. The first suitor.

Everyone stands up to greet the winner, King Kousuke leaning forward to see better. Hajime rolls his eyes, resting his chin on his palm, squishing his own cheek.

Oikawa steps out of the protective umbrella of trees, eyes meeting Hajime halfway. He’s wearing his usual smug smile, confident demeanor and all that - and Hajime, he’s not surprised at all. Of fucking course Oikawa won.

In one of his hands, he’s holding the end of the catching rope, and to his right, emerging from the forest is a—

It’s a deer.

Hajime forgets about the absurdity of the situation as soon as his eyes land on the shy doe trailing after Oikawa, the loop around her neck loose enough for her to escape if she really wanted to. That means Oikawa really is good at suppling, isn’t he? Seriously, what else does this guy have up his sleeve?

Hajime stands up, drawn in by the beautiful creature like a magnet. She’s a timid little thing, and still, there’s grace to the doe’s steps, elegantly putting her legs one after another. Jumping off the podium and with Issei following him, Hajime is quick to make his way over to Oikawa, gaze fixed on the doe. He must look enchanted, with eyes unusually fond, but he couldn’t care less.

“My prince.” Oikawa flashes him a toothy grin, bowing slightly, and he stops at the beginning of the forest. “It seems like I managed to claim first place. Aren’t you impressed?”

Hajime pointedly ignores his question, gesturing to the rope. “May I?”

Oikawa blinks, taken aback by Hajime’s expression of adoration towards the animal, but he eventually jerks his head in a nod, gingerly passing the rope to the other.

The doe jumps a little bit, wary of Hajime. Hajime, on the other hand, acts like he’s grown up caring for deers - he reaches out, offering his hand to the creature, letting her inspect him on her own. Soon enough, she starts nibbling on his fingers, but it’s not hard enough to inflict pain.

He curls the rope around his wrist, running a hand down her neck, the soft fur pleasantly brushing against his fingertips. The doe twists her head, snapping her teeth near Hajime’s ear in retaliation.

Hajime flinches, laughing. “Easy there, little one,” he murmurs, rubbing behind her ear.

“Is there anything you’re not perfect at?”

Hajime whips his head around, opening his mouth to react, but the look Oikawa has on his face drowns whatever words he had forming. His head is slightly tilted to the side, a small smile plastered on his soft-looking lips, eyes disgustingly tender. He looks like he’s in _love._

Hajime turns back to the deer, eyes falling to the ground, ears burning up. He’s flustered, to say the very least. Does Oikawa really have no shame? No filter whatsoever?

“Hm?” Oikawa urges, smiling knowingly. “Is there a way to best you, my prince?”

“Is there a way to shut you up?” Hajime retorts weakly, heart racing in his chest.

“Ah, seriously,” Oikawa sighs, shaking his head. “This cute blush of yours is fatal, Iwa-chan.”

Hajime tsks, turning his face away from him - and he knows he’s acting like a child, letting Oikawa provoke himself like this, but Hajime only has so much patience.

“Or maybe it’s just me,” Oikawa continues, shrugging. And then, he tips Hajime’s chin back towards himself with only one finger, annoying smirk intact. “After all, every weakness of mine is related to you, my prince.”

Hajime dies a little bit inside.

<>

“Haji,” Issei says. “This is a bad idea.”

Sometimes, Hajime does things like that. Bad ideas.

He knows that, too, as he sits on the table in the middle of his favourite pavilion, with a cup still half-full of red wine, the bottle resting on the table a few inches away from him, already missing a great amount of its content.

It’s _fine._ Hajime is _fine._ He’s peachy.

Maybe the chilly breeze brushing against his skin is not so much. Maybe the fact that if it wasn’t for his intoxicated self, he’d probably need a cloak or two, because it’s past the time of warm evenings on August nights, past the time of the day’s warmth still simmering in the air even after the sun ducked below the horizon. 

It should be fine. Hajime doesn’t have a particular reason for drinking, or at least, not one he wants to admit to himself, so he blames it on the exhaustion, the constant need to be presentable and noble in front of people. It’s a strain, really, but not so much for him anymore - and yet, it’s been his best excuse so far.

He stares at the sky, appreciating the desertedness of it, clouds dismissed into soft wipes of cotton. Worlds apart from him, somewhere in the past, stars shine down on the Hajime of the present, and it’s fine. It’s the soft shade of light that the moon casts over the withering lilies that holds a promise of comfort for him tonight, the stillness of it all. 

“It’s fine, Seisei,” he croons, drawing his letters with slow lips, meddling with the consonants with a heavy tongue. It’s _fine._ He’s just beginning to feel the alcohol crawling its way up to his inhibitions, fucking with them. It’s fine, because he’s just about tipsy, nothing beyond that, and there’s a warm buzzing deep in his chest, too, and it’s fine, it really is. It’s nice, even. Hajime likes it.

Issei gives him a look, one that Hajime does not care to indulge in. He brushes him off, gaze back on the eternal sea above his head, a roofless forest of various constellations, each and every one of them spelling out another beautiful lullaby. Not quite literally, but Hajime can hear the distant songs of faraway universes, ones he won’t ever get to see for himself, and yet can still explore from his own small world, in a way.

Footsteps creep their way into his ears, closing in around them. He doesn’t look, but he can see Issei from the corner of his eye - and his friend doesn’t freeze up, no tension blooms in his muscles, so Hajime guesses it’s nothing bad. Not that anyone could really sneak their way inside the castle walls, but whatever. 

And it’s not only the eased stance Issei assumes, but the simple fact that not many people know his secret hideout around here. Or, scratch that - not many people dare to disturb him when he retreats to this very place. There’s a brave man, however, who pushes Hajime to his limits sometimes, who likes to test his borders just a little _too much_ \- someone who invades Hajime’s privacy, has done so many times before, and at this point, Hajime doesn’t mind. At least he’s not lonely, right?

“Iwa-chan?”

Hajime tuts, the gentle tone pulling on his heartstrings with the expertise of a certified puppet master. If Hajime was sober right now, he’d have the restraint to maintain a straight face, but as of the moment, his lips tug into a soft smile. Small and tender.

“Shittykawa,” he booms in a low tenor, catching Oikawa off-guard.

Oikawa furrows his brows, confusion filling him. “Shittykawa? That’s mean, Iwa-chan.”

“You came here uninvited, so we’ll call it even,” Hajime retorts, giggling. 

Oikawa huffs, indignant. Hajime catches Takahiro’s soft chuckle, satisfied with himself, finally turning to look at Oikawa, tilting his head. “Greetings, foxy prince,” he adds after little to no hesitation, the teasing tilt obvious in his voice.

The laugh leaving Oikawa’s throat is familiar and fond, high-pitched. It has its own kick to it, its own flavour, and Hajime will admit it this once, and never again - he likes it. 

Oikawa takes a step forward, then another, coming up between Hajime’s legs, claiming the space there. His hands fall on Hajime’s thighs naturally, like it’s no big deal - and it shouldn’t be, it’s just two hands; two warm, soft palms on top of Hajime’s breeches. 

“Right back at you, _my_ prince.”

Hajime grins, feeling bold, leaning closer to Oikawa. “You give funny nicknames, Trashykawa.”

Oikawa scrunches up his nose, offended. “You’re acting quite childish for yourself right now, Iwa-chan. Just call me Tooru.”

Hajime cocks his head to the side, widening his eyes on purpose, pretending to be innocent. “Now, why would I? You think I like you that much, _Tooru-kun_?”

Oikawa grins, his fingers digging into Hajime’s thighs. The muscles flex under his touch, and Oikawa’s hand immediately soothes him, his thumbs massaging circles into the skin. “I’m _positive,_ Hajime-chan.”

Hajime wrinkles his nose, smile blooming. “What a shameless yet false accusation.”

Oikawa stares at him, and Hajime can feel the green of his own eyes melt into hazel, a light shade of brown. It’s like Oikawa is looking at his soul, laid out in front of him, examining it with careful glimpses. 

Hajime, still keeping at his push-and-pull game, leans away, bringing his cup up to his lips, taking small sips. 

Understanding comes quickly to Oikawa, the situation dawning on him. “Ah, so that’s how it is.” He pulls away, putting a few more inches of distance between them. His hands stay on Hajime’s thighs, though.

Hajime hums in agreement, putting his cup down next to himself. Oikawa stares at his mouth, unabashed, and Hajime imagines his lips are tinted a little bit red from the wine, visible even in the soft illumination the moon provides. “I’m allowed to have fun, aren’t I?”

Oikawa licks his lips, eyes flickering up to Hajime’s. “Of course,” he says, but it doesn’t sound like he means it. He swallows, loudly, Hajime following the motion of his throat with intent, before looking back up to lock gazes. Oikawa seems... _vulnerable,_ like Hajime exposed his greatest weakness or something of the like. 

“Say, Iwa-chan,” he murmurs, loud enough to be heard only in the space they share. Hajime looks over Oikawa’s shoulder, noticing that Issei and Takahiro have moved a few feet away from them, giving them enough privacy. They look like they’re deep in conversation, and Hajime momentarily pauses, realising he’s never seen Issei like that before. Not too many times, anyway.

His gaze drifts back to Oikawa, unconsciously leaning closer, keeping up the eye contact. 

“Have you ever kissed someone?” Oikawa whispers, airy. He says it like he’s a ghost, just soughing rustles, like he’s crossing the barrier between worlds, something he shouldn’t be able to.

Hajime’s breath catches in his throat, heartbeat picking up the pace.

“Yeah,” he mumbles, tone kept soft, barely audible. “Issei.”

Oikawa’s expression falls, a mix of a grimace and a deadpan shadowing over his features. Hajime can see the exasperation in the wrinkles around his mouth, the pout of his lips, the reprimanding set of eyes with soft moonlight cast over his expression, caressing his flawless skin with silver highlights. 

“Very funny,” he says, voice flat.

Hajime, despite himself, giggles. He can’t help it. The nervousness swelling in his chest is knocking against his lungs, kicking its legs in the small space Hajime attempts to confine it. “I’m not joking, this time.” His smile melts, shrinking into a small, reserved little thing.

Oikawa narrows his eyes, apparently in disbelief, inspecting Hajime’s face from close. When he finds no signs of dishonesty, he visibly falters, shoulders sagging. “Seriously?”

Hajime shrugs, looking away. “Seriously. It was years ago, but it still happened. Kind of out of the blue? We were just sitting on my bed, and without any prompting, he kissed me. And I didn’t pull away.” He smiles at the memory, turning back to Oikawa. “So...We kissed, and there was no particular reason for it, really.”

Oikawa studies him, an annoying grin growing on his lips. “Of course there was a reason. It’s because you always look so kissable, Iwa-chan.”

Hajime gasps softly. He opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. Only now does he realise how _close_ they are, once again. There’s a static pull between them, something Hajime has been trying to ignore for a month now, but to no avail. It’s still ever so present, the tension in the air, the pause of breaths. As if a small string is being pulled from both sides, stretching until it’s on the verge of snapping.

And Hajime pulls on it harder, _wants_ it to snap.

“So kiss me,” he whispers.

It backfires. Instead of snapping, the small string slips from his fingers, the tension leaving the organzine.

Oikawa’s eyes widen, breath catching in his throat. He stares at him, on the verge of obliging, looking like he’s going to give in. But then something changes, twisting the corners of his mouth, expression pained.

His head falls on Hajime’s shoulder, burying his face into Hajime’s neck. It sends shivers down Hajime’s spine, and he swallows, tasting bitterness on his tongue.

The rejection pangs loud and harsh in his chest, eyes suddenly void of the lingering playfulness they had in them a moment ago.

“You don’t want to,” he says, lump in his throat. It’s not a question. It’s a statement, the realisation dawning on him. He quite literally just stomped on his own pride. Oikawa is a _great_ actor, alright, and Hajime hates himself for believing it. That’s what this is, isn’t it? The moment Hajime gives Oikawa the go-ahead, Oikawa backs away, afraid to get caught in it. To get caught in _Hajime._ Because he doesn’t _want_ him, never did, is only here for an assurance for peace between their kingdoms.

“Not like this,” Oikawa whispers, just above barely audible. Something weak flutters in Hajime’s chest, something like _hope_ , but Hajime doesn’t let himself indulge in it, the remaining echoes of rejection ringing loud in his ears. He doesn’t know what to think anymore.

Oikawa pulls away, slowly, like he’s reluctant to do so. His eyes meet Hajime’s, wincing when he sees no leftover signs of Hajime’s joy. No amused expression, no glinting eyes, just Hajime staring at him like they’re suddenly strangers.

Gritting his teeth, Oikawa forces himself to pay it no mind, not letting himself be pulled right back in. He’s doing the right thing here, even if Hajime’s reaction indicates the opposite.

“Mattsun-chan!” He calls, turning his back to Hajime. “Please, take the prince to bed.”

Issei says something in return, but Hajime doesn’t pay any attention to it. He looks down at his legs, clenching his jaw.

“Good night, Iwa-chan,” he distantly registers Oikawa say. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

With that, Oikawa starts walking away, Takahiro following him with reluctant steps. Issei watches them leave before heading over to Hajime in long strides, a question ready on his lips.

“What did you—” the words get caught in his throat, meeting Hajime’s eyes. A mix of realisation, confusion and worry reflect in Issei’s dark orbs, opening his mouth and then closing it.

Hajime gets off the table, and starts to walk to his quarters without a word.

He sleeps like shit, that night.

<>

Next morning, Hajime wakes up in a bad mood. That’s no surprise, really, to anyone. Issei seems to read the room, keeping his questions to himself - if he still has any, that is. Hajime is sure Oikawa shares gossip with Takahiro like they share the same air, and if Takahiro knows something, so does Issei. That’s just how it is.

Hajime dresses up quietly, staring at his reflection in the mirror for a little too long for it to be normal. It’s not narcissism, more like spacing out, getting lost in his whirl of thoughts.

He decides it’s for the best if he goes to see his father and asks him for advice. After last night, he really needs it.

Finding Oikawa waiting for him at the Great Hall is a shock, though, stopping Hajime in his tracks. At this point, he really doesn’t know what to think - why does Oikawa always stick around, anyway? Is he just bored?

“Good morning, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa greets him brightly, like nothing’s out of the ordinary. Like nothing happened.

Hajime narrows his eyes, suspicion cloaking his senses, rationality thrown out the window. He can’t look at the situation objectively anymore; maybe he never really could. Who knows?

“Have you slept well?” Oikawa inquires, tone still as light as before.

Hajime crosses his arms, jaw setting. “Are you serious right now?” He asks harshly, a sour bite to his words, sharp and alert.

Oikawa raises an eyebrow, tilting his head in question. “What do you mean, my prince?”

Hajime tuts. “You’re going to act like nothing happened?”

With a sigh, Oikawa lets his shoulders fall. His mask falls, eyes punching a hole through Hajime’s chest.

“I assumed you’d prefer your pride intact, for the time being.”

Hajime shakes his head. This isn’t about his dignity.

“You’re a coward,” he mutters, tilting his chin up. He can’t look Oikawa in the eyes anymore, gaze drifting to the side, lips pursing. He takes a step forward, fully intent on passing Oikawa and leaving him behind, letting the conversation come to a full stop there, unsaid words hanging in the air.

He’s understandably taken aback when Oikawa pushes him against the closest wall with a hand on Hajime’s chest, and Hajime immediately opens his mouth to ask what the hell he’s thinking, but his brain short-circuits when he sees the expression Oikawa’s wearing.

“A _coward_?” He spits, and Hajime has never seen him this angry before. He’s never even seen him remotely _frustrated_ before, now that he thinks about it, and the way Oikawa’s eyes shoot daggers at him is so _unfamiliar,_ Hajime is left speechless. The crease of his brow, the wrinkle of his nose, his narrowed eyes, the thin line he pulls his lips into - it’s infuriating, how he’s still attractive, but it’s also kind of...scary. Foreign. 

“You think I’m a coward, Hajime? For not kissing you without your sober consent?”

Hajime’s mouth falls open to reply, but nothing comes out. The next second, Issei is by his side, pushing Oikawa off with surprisingly much force. Hajime doesn’t have the mental presence to note how strong Issei is, and how he tends to forget about it - no, he’s stuck in one place, gaze fixed on Oikawa.

Issei’s form in front of him blocks his vision for a second, holding out a protective hand over Hajime. “You’re not allowed to touch the prince like that,” he says in a low monotone, void of emotions.

Oikawa ignores him.

“If anyone’s a coward here, it’s _you,_ Iwa-chan. You’re the one who can’t admit their feelings without getting intoxicated.”

The words pierce through Hajime’s chest like a spear, aiming for his vital organs. He looks to the side, knowing fully well that Oikawa is right on this one. As much as it hurts his pride, and as much as getting rejected last night stings, Oikawa is much more justified in not believing in Hajime’s affection for him. All he’s done is push, push and push, away from himself, acting unaffected. Oikawa claimed seeing right through his act multiple times, but that doesn’t change the fact that Hajime was _acting_ instead of letting go of something as infinitesimal as his dignity in order to be sincere for once.

Jaw clenching, his gaze falls back to Oikawa, eyes hardening. There’s newfound determination blooming in his chest, growing from the seeds of his wounded pride, thorns cutting through his lungs, pushing him further. 

Fine. Oikawa wins.

Hajime steps forward, gently pushing Issei aside, closing the distance between him and Oikawa. Their chests almost touch, just a few inches apart, but Hajime can pick up on the warmth of Oikawa’s body heat, can smell the familiar scent that’s rolling off Oikawa. Keeping the heavy eye-contact, Hajime has to tilt his head just a tiny bit to be able to properly maintain it, their height difference ever so apparent in such proximity.

“You know what? Fine,” he hisses, his hard stare turning into a glare, almost faltering for a moment, _almost_ getting lost in Oikawa’s eyes, and his long and thick eyelashes fluttering as he blinks. But not today. Hajime grits his teeth, staying strong, and then there it is. “ _I like you,_ ” he says, emphasising every single word, so it gets the point across. So Oikawa knows just how much he means it.

And then, with his impulse control apparently on vacation, he grabs Oikawa’s collar, revelling in the widening of his beautiful, beautiful eyes and then he yanks him down, just enough to press his lips on Oikawa’s. It’s slightly off-center, but Hajime can’t be bothered to care. It’s not even a real kiss, anyway, just a press of their lips, mouth on mouth. It’s more about what it _symbolises,_ rather than how it feels.

Oikawa’s hands lift, but stay frozen in the air, a shocked noise escaping the back of his throat. With that, Hajime pulls away, brain failing to catch up with what he just did.

“And that’s compensation for last night. Have a good day, Oikawa-san.”

Abruptly, he turns on his heels, biting down harshly on his lower lip to stifle the scream he wants to let out. He throws Issei a meaningful look, ignoring the gawking of his best friend, starting in the opposite direction they came from. 

Issei catches up to him in two steps, a proud smile and a bit of disbelief still apparent on his face. Hajime returns his gaze, wide-eyed and practically scared shitless, pressing his hand against his lips. Issei mouths an _oh my gods_ at him, enjoying this plot twist to the fullest, way too invested in it.

Hajime reddens further, cheeks, ears and neck burning up with embarrassment.

Did he really just do _that_? Just like that?

It’s okay, it’s fine. He can’t scream, not here. Just a few more steps, and he can turn around the corner and have his mental breakdown. It’s fine. He’s fine. He’s _fine._

He isn’t.

He isn’t fine, but he only has to make it past around the corner, where Oikawa can no longer see him, and he can just—

He can’t. Not when there’s a hand closing around his wrist, long fingers gingerly wrapping around his arm, and then with enough force to catch him off guard, he’s yanked back, finding himself face to face with Oikawa once again.

Of fucking course the bastard won’t let it go that easily. Hajime’s only consolation is that Oikawa looks equally flustered, with his cheeks tinted an adorable shade of pink, accentuating the light freckles scattered across his features. “Iwa-chan!” He whines, tone pleading, eyes mirroring the emotions behind his voice, desperate. “You can’t just kiss me and then _leave,_ ” he complains, agony etched into his syllables.

Hajime’s eyebrow twitches, looking away to the side. “What else do you want me to do.” His intonation makes it sound like it’s a statement, rather than a question; it speaks volumes of his embarrassment.

Oikawa wrinkles his nose. “I don’t know, perhaps kiss me long enough that I can kiss you back?” he asks, a cute smile plastering onto his lips, artistic brushes of paint twisting his features. Hajime catches himself staring, tries to control his gaze, but it’s already too late - Oikawa has the perceptive skills of an eagle-eyed mastermind. He takes one step closer, cradling Hajime’s face in his hands, slightly tilting Hajime’s head up. “Actually listen to me for once?” He adds, pausing for only a second. “Allow me to tell you how much I like you in exchange?” He bumps his forehead against Hajime’s, and Hajime lets his eyes fall shut on instinct, anticipation filling his chest.

The tension from last night is back. The string pulls at his heart, begging to be released, taut to the point Hajime can taste its salty sting on his tongue.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa whispers, and he’s so _close._ “ _Hajime._ ”

Hajime’s eyes flutter open, meeting Oikawa’s in the middle. Looking away, he purses his lips, a defiant edge to his features sharpening, but Oikawa flashes him a toothy grin, adoration radiating off him in tidal waves, like Hajime is the most adorable thing he’s ever seen.

“Shittykawa,” Hajime mumbles, flustered.

“It’s Tooru,” Oikawa corrects, just a touch of cotton-ish softness, breath ghosting over Hajime’s lips.

In the end, it’s Hajime who gives in first, reducing the short distance to zero, pressing against Oikawa’s lips. _Tooru_ ’s lips.

At first, it’s hesitant. Tentative. Hajime moves first, cocking his head to the side to better the angle, surging forward. Tooru takes him up on the challenge, molding their lips together with ease, yet still so careful. That is, until Hajime grows bold enough to nibble on his lower lip, and Tooru can’t help but smile against his mouth before mirroring his enthusiasm, pressing closer. One of his hands settles on Hajime’s waist, squeezing his hip, pushing Hajime into his chest; the other still holding his face, thumb brushing against Hajime’s cheek. Hajime, on the other hand, wraps his arms around Tooru’s neck, locking him in place, fingers combing through soft, chestnut locks, ruffling them.

As if he’s been starved for this, Tooru sucks a sharp breath through his nose, boldly swiping his tongue over Hajime’s upper lip, silently asking for permission to deepen the kiss. Hajime grants it, opening his mouth just enough for Tooru to slip his tongue in, stealing Hajime’s air from his lungs, probing at the speech centre in his brain.

Hajime wants to laugh. Dear Twin Moons, he’s in way too deep. He can’t help it - he smiles against Tooru’s lips, and Tooru returns it, pulling away, just enough to share the same air.

“Be still, my heart,” he croons, coaxing a soft chuckle out of Hajime.

Takahiro breaks them out of their moment, making them realise they’re not alone. “As much as seeing you two get your shit together brings me joy, I am not entirely certain everyone else here wishes to see you two eat face, uglies.”

Tooru pulls away, straightening up. He throws an exasperated look over his shoulder, rolling his eyes. “Makki-chan, I really _am_ going to gag you, one of these days.

Takahiro wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. Hajime snorts at the same time as Tooru groans, and Issei just laughs at all three of them.

Dismissing Takahiro with an elegant middle finger, Tooru turns back to Hajime. “So, who’s the better kisser? Mattsun-chan or me?”

Hajime isn’t even surprised, at this point.

Issei cackles, hiding behind his hand, and Hajime simply gives Tooru a look before turning on his heels, beginning to walk away once again.

“Hajime!” Tooru whines, truly like a child who’s been confiscated of their favourite toy. “Answer the question!”

Hajime doesn’t even look back. “No.”

Tooru jogs after him, quickly falling in line with him. Takahiro and Issei follow, although a little farther behind. “Come on! You owe me this much.”

Hajime rolls his eyes. “I don’t even remember what Issei was like. Therefore, your question is just plain stupid.”

“Want me to freshen the memory?” Issei asks, grin audible in his voice. It’s a teasing jab, and Tooru reacts exactly the way everyone expected him to.

“Absolutely not,” he shuts Issei down with a glare. “Stay in your lane, Mattsun-chan.”

Issei shrugs, still smirking. Hajime decides to play along. 

“He has a point. That’s the only way I can properly compare the two of you.”

Tooru juts out his lower lip, his trademark pout forming, and Hajime represses the urge to reach out and kiss it away. He’s not _that_ weak. 

“Not funny. You’re mine, Hajime,” he mumbles, crossing his arms in petulance.

“Your possessive behaviour will give you a headache, one day,” Hajime laughs, still poking fun of him. What can he say; he was born a little shit.

Tooru gives him a look. “You like it.”

Hajime shrugs, unable to brush the smile off his own face. “Never said I didn’t.”

Tooru perks up at that, brightening, grabbing Hajime’s waist to pull him closer. Leaning in, he smiles against Hajime’s cheek before kissing it, lips soft but certain. “ _My_ prince,” he says, bells ringing with each letter, spelling harmony.

Hajime rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t deny it anymore.

<>

Next time Hajime sees Tooru, it’s late afternoon. He’s invited Yahaba to spend some time with him, sitting at the benches nearby ones of the ponds, the time passing them by way too fast. It’s always like that, when things are fun.

When a strong arm wraps around Hajime’s neck, he doesn’t even flinch. Tooru slips next to him, sitting down with no distance between them, greeting Hajime with an exaggerated kiss in the corner of his lips.

Yahaba looks taken aback for only a second. The knowing smile that immediately follows flusters Hajime, looking away with a roll of his eyes.

“Where’s _my_ kiss?” Tooru nudges him, nosing under his jaw. 

Hajime shares a look with Yahaba, shaking his head fondly, before he replies. “What kiss?”

“The one you’re supposed to give your fiancé.”

“You’re not my fiancé.”

Tooru smiles, too smug for Hajime’s liking. “Not _yet,_ ” he amends, puckering his lips. “Kiss, now.”

Hajime stares at him, a grin tugging at his mouth. “No,” he simply says, expression kept neutral.

Tooru pouts, shooting him a glare before accepting defeat, a petulant _hmpf_ leaving his lips. “Fine,” he murmurs childishly, putting his arm on the backrest, propping his chin up on his palm. He turns to Hajime fully, kicking a leg over Hajime’s thigh, sitting like a barbarian - and Hajime doesn’t even bother pointing it out at this point. He knows Tooru never gave too many shits about manners whatsoever. That’s why they’re here, in the first place.

When Hajime turns back to Yahaba, he tries his best to ignore the knowing smile he gives him, ears burning up.

“Your Highness,” Yahaba starts, shit-eating grin poking at Hajime’s dignity. He looks like he’s about to comment on their sudden proximity, and Hajime is very thankful that Yahaba decides against it at the last second. “I’ve been meaning to ask you. Is there anything you’d like as a gift? For the last challenge, that is.”

Tooru huffs beside him. “ _Haba-chan,_ you lack creativity! Are you really asking Haji _that_?”

Yahaba shrugs. “I’m a man who can admit to his faults. There’s no shame in it,” he says, then switches back on the annoying smirk. “Plus, I’m not hopelessly in love with him, _Juan-san._ ”

Tooru scoffs, sticking his tongue out in retaliation. “No, you’re hopelessly in love with someone else, aren’t you?”

Yahaba’s smile falls, glaring at Tooru. Then, without missing a beat, he looks at Hajime. “My condolences, Your Highness. Are you certain this is the guy you like?”

Hajime laughs, a bubbly, warm tingle, watching Tooru reach out to slap Yahaba’s shoulder. “Shut it, no one wants to hear your nonsense. Haji _loves_ me.”

“Strong wording,” Hajime cuts in. “I merely _tolerate_ you.”

Tooru grabs his face with one hand, squishing his cheeks together, making his lips jut out. And Hajime lets him. “I’m gonna make you eat your words, my prince.”

“I’m sure you already know this, Your Highness,” Yahaba chirps. “But you need not to listen to his empty threats.”

Hajime laughs, pulling Tooru’s hand away from his face by his wrist. “How observant of you, Shigeru-kun. You know your opponents.”

“Too bad you can’t defeat them,” Tooru interjects.

Yahaba flashes him a lazy smile. “Only because I don’t actually _want to,_ Bastard-san.”

Tooru glowers, and Hajime can already see his pout, without having to turn his face. 

“You’re just going to let him insult me like that, Haji?”

Hajime hums. “You can fend for yourself, can you not?”

“What a shame,” Tooru grumbles. “That your gorgeous looks are wasted on such a brute, merciless personality.”

“Isn’t that hypocritical of you to say, Juan-sama?” Yahaba asks, mocking, making space for himself in the conversation. Hajime rewards him with a fond look and a giggle, biting down on his bottom lip to control his smile.

“Watch it, you damn brat,” Tooru barks, no bite to his words. “You’re lucky you fell for Kyoken-chan, he’s too stupid to realise how awful you actually are.”

Yahaba blows him a kiss, flipping him off.

“Leave Shigeru alone,” Hajime laughs.

“Oh, so you can defend _him_ but not _me_?” Tooru complains, petulance heavy in his words. “If you wanted me to kick your ass, you should’ve just asked, _Haji-chan._ ”

“Oh, _please,_ ” Yahaba gives him a look. “As if you could.” That earns a satisfied grin from Hajime, giving Yahaba a look of approval.

“Stop teaming up against me! It is _not_ fair.”

“Because you’re so _fair_ all the time,” Yahaba shoots back. “Give me a break, Bastard-san.”

Needless to say, Hajime can’t stop smiling for the rest of the afternoon.

<>

Hajime wakes to Issei’s voice, his friend shaking him to consciousness.

“It’s your big day, princey,” he grins down at a grumbling Hajime.

Hajime wants to kick him in the balls. Usually, he wakes up slowly, softly, to the tunes of a love sonata. Sometimes, he can somewhat hear the vibrancy of violin strings, pulling him from his sleep into another day, despite his body’s weak protests.

Having Issei destroy that languid, gentle melody of his mornings is a blasphemy, really.

“What time is it?” He grunts, sleep etched into his gruff tone, morning voice dipping below his usual, gentle tenor.

“We’re an hour before the last challenge, Haji.”

Hajime wakes up immediately. “An _hour?!_ Why did you let me sleep this long?”

Issei shrugs. “I like my dick where it is, attached to me. Morning Hajime would literally bite it off if I so much as touched him.”

Unable to deny it, Hajime curses under his breath, rubbing his eyes free of his dreams. 

It’s all rushing from then on. He puts on the clothes he picked out for today last night, neatly laid out on the stool standing before his mirror. Struggling with the buttons, Issei lends him a hand with a lazy grin, popping them into place with practiced ease. Impatiently tapping his foot, Hajime takes a look at his reflection, grimacing. He looks the exact version of _just woke up,_ his hair standing in all directions in messy spikes, eyes and cheeks still puffy from sleep.

Twin Moons, he really doesn’t have the time for this. Sighing in defeat, he asks Issei to send in some maids that could get him into a presentable state, also for a bite of whatever there is in the kitchens.

In ten minutes, with his appearance fixed and stomach not completely empty, Hajime thanks the maids with a polite bow of his head and a small smile, wiping the leftover crumbs from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. 

Issei claps his hands together twice, urging him on. “Time to go, Haji. I have a feeling some people want to have one last word with you before the tournament comes to an end.”

Hajime hums in agreement, smoothing out the creases of his silky shirt, and then one last look in the mirror, a nod to himself, and he’s good to go. 

Taking hasty steps, Hajime exits his quarters, navigating through the many corridors, all familiar to him. The marble under his feet knocks against his soles, echoes bouncing off the walls of the spacious rooms. His mind foregoes him, already anticipating the end of tonight, the Banquet, the relief of having got it over with. It’s been more than a month since the day nobilities started arriving in a row, trailing into their assigned rooms without Hajime’s littlest sympathy or interest. And now, here he is, friendships and bonds already flourished, prejudgments polished into guilt and making way for an open mind.

To no one’s surprise, Hajime is stopped short in his tracks in the middle of the corridor leading up to the Great Hall, two figures waiting for him.

When they take notice of him, the taller steps forward, reducing the distance between them quickly. Hajime’s eyes soften without his consent, a smile bitten into his lips.

“Good morning, future fiancé,” Tooru grins, cupping Hajime’s jaw. “You look…” His eyes rake all over him, taking in Hajime’s appearance, checking him out thoroughly - the tightness of his black breeches, hugging his thighs; the loose shirt tucked into his belt, silky smooth, embroidered with gold thread; the rosette-patterned mantle cast over his shoulders, the royal blue complementing Hajime’s skin tone. There’s a trim of fur at the collar, the embodiment of _expensive._ Hajime looks like a true prince, his attire speaking volumes of his status.

“You look absolutely _delectable,_ no doubt.”

Hajime rolls his eyes, gently taking hold of Tooru’s wrist, pulling it away from his face. “Thank you,” he accepts the compliment, bringing a pleased smile to Tooru’s lips. “Do you have any particular business with me as of the moment? I don’t mean to dismiss you, but I’m in a hurry.”

“Of course,” Tooru croons, twisting his hand so that he can interlace their fingers, bringing Hajime’s hand up to his mouth to press his lips against his knuckles. “I’m here for a kiss of reassurance, Hajime.”

Hajime laughs, shaking his head. “Your ego is nowhere _near_ needing reassurance, Tooru.”

Despite the meaning behind his words, another playful jab at Tooru, the man’s eyes light up, beaming. Hajime realises a second too late he just called him by his first name, no taunting suffix, no insulting prefix, nothing. Just _Tooru,_ warm and intimate and—it feels _right._ So Hajime doesn’t dwell on it.

“But my lips certainly _are_ in need of yours pressed against them.”

What a bastardly smooth-talker.

Despite his urge to hit Tooru in retaliation, Hajime smiles. It’s not that he doesn’t find him annoying anymore, it’s just that he’s grown used to it, and it doesn’t have the same effect on him now. Conversations with Oikawa Tooru always include suave, flirty, or chaffing comments from him, probably always will, but Hajime finds himself not minding it after listening to them for so long. It wouldn’t be the same without his annoying remarks, anyway.

His adrenaline levels spiking slightly, Hajime cups Tooru’s cheek, standing on his tiptoes, leaning in. Tooru’s lashes flutter, eyelids falling shut instinctively, and Hajime thinks it’s outright _adorable._ The moment slows as Hajime presses a lingering kiss right beside Tooru’s nose, determined and assuring but also quick and _not enough._ He’s smiling when he pulls away, satisfied. Tooru visibly colours, cheeks tinted a cute pink, apparently not having expected Hajime to be so bold.

But really, two can play at this game. Tooru is _shameless,_ but it’s with his words. And Hajime isn’t the shy type, either. The only difference is that he’s brash with actions.

“Be patient,” Hajime teases, reducing Tooru to a flustered mess, for once, switching their usual roles. And he’ll have to admit, he prefers this dynamic a lot more.

Tooru opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. His lips tremble slightly, and he bites down on it, his teeth sinking into the plushy pillow. Hajime gets distracted by it, repressing his urge to actually give Tooru a proper kiss. He knows Tooru probably wants him to just as much, and that kind of helps.

That got gay pretty fast. 

As much as he wants to believe otherwise, Hajime knows it’s not a “0 to 100 real quick” type of thing. Now that he revealed his cards, letting them be seen so openly, his affection flows much more easily. He’s been pushing it down for the most part, but now that it got a taste of freedom, it wants to be let out, simmering beneath his skin. Once you open the cage, you can’t close it.

“You’re a _menace,_ my prince,” Tooru murmurs softly, lips stretching into a tender smile.

“Not _your_ prince, yet,” Hajime says, playful. 

“Looks like he grew some balls, hey,” Takahiro murmurs, sharing a look with Issei. Hajime can see Issei nodding along, the ghost of a smirk sitting on his face, but he chooses to pointedly ignore it, giving Takahiro a delicate middle finger.

“I think you already _are_ mine, just as I am yours, Hajime,” Tooru muses, flashing him a toothy grin. “Regardless of the formalities.”

He’s right, but Hajime has no intention of telling him that. Nor the way his heart is beating out of his chest, nor the way butterflies have come alive in his stomach, _nor_ the way his vocal cords flex to agree wholeheartedly.

“We’ll just have to wait and see,” he says instead, as diplomatic as he can be.

Then, with one last, coy look, he excuses himself, leaving it at that.

<>

In the midst of murmurs and honey-sweet velvets swishing in a hurry, Hajime finds himself deeply-rooted to his chair for his heart has officially decided to give up on him and quit. Well, that’s one dramatic way to say he’s nervous to his damned bones, despite everything. Regardless of how he feels, and how he imagines the day to delve into night, seconds ticking by with the ease of feather-light paintbrushes, there are still some worrisome factors to consider in his current situation. Non-reasonable ones, mostly.

He can’t help it. Any minute, he’s ready to wake up, sit up on his bed with a flush on his cheeks, realising how vivid of a dream he just had. Thankfully, the rational part of his mind reminds him he should be in a coma for his subconscious to think up something so down to the detail. Also, on a second thought, he’s quite unsure he could invent a character such like Oikawa Tooru’s. So it has to be real.

As real as Issei’s taunting cackles are, sneaking their way into Hajime’s ears despite the background noises.

“What?” Hajime asks, irritation clear on his face. Issei quite literally grew up making fun of him, so this has to be a case of the like.

Schooling his features, Issei straightens his back. His expression falls neutral, but Hajime knows better than to believe that crap, knows just exactly where to look for the signs - in the form of a mischievous glint in his eyes, a small twitch at the corner of his mouth. It’s all written there, clear as day.

“Oh, nothing,” Issei lies. Hajime gives him a look, urging him on, and it proves to be effective. Hajime has a feeling Issei didn’t intend on keeping whatever bullshit he’s on all to himself, because then he wouldn’t be so conspicuous about it. “I’m just worried people will notice the stink of you shitting your pants, Haji.”

That’s not even mediocre, on a humour scale of Issei. _He must be sleep-deprived, all those asshole tendencies keeping him up at night,_ Hajime thinks to himself.

“Ever considered becoming a royal comedian?” He sighs, waving his hand dismissively. And with that, he realises exactly what his friend is doing - distracting him. Because Hajime really _is_ nervous, even if he supposedly has no reason to - he’s about to be set for life in less than an hour. And Issei knows that, too, no matter how annoying of a strategy he has of helping him. 

“The thought _did_ cross my mind on a few occasions,” Issei teases, warm and probing. “But I’d be too worried about you, you know? Not everyone can grow up to be the bodyguard of a brute prince.”

“Fuck you,” Hajime hisses, lacking bite. “This brute prince can order your execution any given minute.”

“He wouldn’t,” Issei hums, sure of himself. Not that it’s not justified, it just irritates Hajime. “He’s too soft.”

“Which one is it, soft or brute?” Hajime grumbles under his breath, crossing his arms.

“Why not both? You excel at juxtapositions, I’d say.”

Hajime rolls his eyes. “Enough of your shit. When’s this thing starting?”

“In about seven minutes, princey,” Issei provides. “Approximately two minutes less than the last time you asked me.”

“Fine, fine,” Hajime groans, not deeming the conversation worthy of continuing. He rakes his eyes all over the Great Hall, getting lost in the small pool of people. Maids and servants move swiftly from one place to another, ensuring that everything is ready for the last time. Guards at their assigned positions, with the few extras from the suitors’ men, standing in one place, unmoving, like they’re made of marble. 

And then, of course, the challengers. Hajime takes in each of them, one by one, making eye contact - he gives a little nod to Kyoutani, which the latter returns jerkily. Watari gives him a small wave, Shimizu a small smile, Kindaichi a sheepish tilt of his head. Of course, he spots Tooru at the right side of the room, seemingly deep in conversation with Yahaba while using Takahiro’s shoulder as his personal armrest. As if he had a sixth sense for Hajime’s attention on him, he turns just enough to connect their eyes, gaze heavy with intent but playful in a way it always is. Hajime’s breath hitches, a sharp intake of air through his nose, but his shoulders visibly ease. Tooru wiggles his fingers in the imitation of a small wave, and Hajime’s heart squeezes in his chest, endeared. He knows better than to find Tooru cute, of all things, but he can’t help it. Admittedly, Tooru is pleasant until he opens his mouth, but he can’t ruin the moment right now, thankfully.

“Son.” His father comes up behind his chair, taking his seat to Hajime’s right. He leans on the small desk that’s been brought in earlier, turning to his son. “Are you ready?”

“No,” Hajime blurts, honest to a fault. “Let us begin, anyway.”

King Kousuke laughs. “That’s the spirit.” And then he claps his hands together, and the Great Hall falls silent, just like that. Hajime will never get tired of that sheer power, the way it raises goosebumps on his skin.

“Good day to all of you, who have gathered here,” he starts, volume turned up enough to echo off the walls, bouncing into everyone’s ears. “Today marks the very last challenge of our beloved tournament, as well as the day of Prince Hajime’s engagement. I’m beyond pleased to have the chance of greeting you all here.” A pause, lingering in the air for the effect. Hajime refuses the urge to roll his eyes. “As for the fifth challenge, all of you have been asked to find the perfect gift for Prince Hajime, as a symbol of your devotion. Prince Hajime will choose the person he finds most fit for the role of being his significant other, and you will be set, until death do you part.” Hajime almost winces, second-hand embarrassment getting the best of him. He’s never been too fond of speeches such as this, but he has to accept the formal importance of it.

“Now, then,” King Kousuke claps once more. “Our first suitor, please step forward.”

Hajime sighs. Here it comes.

It goes on smoothly. Kyoutani gives him an amulet, claiming with a stern voice that he carved it himself. It’s surprisingly sophisticated, and just overall a very sweet gesture. Hajime knows everyone is aware of what his choice will be, and yet, all the gifts he gets are obviously well-thought-out, picked with consideration. Kunimi gives him a book they talked about, the gesture subtle but sweet - it speaks volumes of how much he actually paid attention to Hajime’s mindless literature rambles. Kindaichi braided him a bracelet, the absolute _nerd_ for minerals Hajime knows him to be. It’s mostly of cleanly exploited jade, a colour Kindaichi often compares Hajime’s eyes to. Undeniably, it brings a huge, toothy grin to Hajime’s face, heart fluttering in his chest.

And then there’s Tooru.

Really, Hajime hates him. He does.

With graceful steps, Tooru makes his way over to them, hands tightly held behind his back. “Your Majesty,” he says, politely bowing to King Kousuke first, and then he turns to Hajime, eyes fixing on him. Already, there’s that familiar smirk that shows he’s up to no good, and Hajime narrows his eyes as a precautionary measure - but really, nothing could prepare him for the absolute _audacity_ Tooru has. 

“ _My_ Highness,” he says, the shit he is.

Hajime is this close to decapitating him. The _fucker._

He’s pretty sure Issei chokes on a laugh behind him, alongside King Kousuke’s bodyguard, and his father has to bite down on a smile, too. Unhelpful.

“Thin fucking ice,” Hajime murmurs, low enough so only they catch it. 

Tooru just laughs in his face. Bastard.

Elegantly, like his movements are swimming in the depths of air-like oceans, he pulls out a small, velvet box, entirely black; and he puts it down right in front of Hajime, brushing against his fingers - seemingly accidental, but Hajime knows he’s a calculating shit, so he doesn’t trust that sentiment.

Stoic and skeptical, Hajime picks up the small item, flashing Tooru a suspicious look. If this is what it looks like, Tooru is a dead man.

He opens the box. Almost wishes he didn’t.

As expected, there, in the middle of the box, sits a golden ring.

This idiot. This absolute bastard. This _motherfucker._

“There’s my name engraved inside, in case you didn’t notice,” Tooru supplies helpfully, an innocent smile resting on his lips.

True to his words, Hajime spots a curvy _Tooru_ on the inner surface of the ring. 

Hajime is going to kill him.

He closes his eyes. Counts to three. Exhales slowly, then looks up at this shithead he’s unfortunately fallen for. “I have to execute you for this.”

Tooru’s grin widens, and he wiggles his fingers at Hajime suggestively, but - there’s something that catches Hajime’s eye, this time. A band of gold on his ring finger, provocatively glinting at Hajime, reflecting the lights right back at him.

Dear Twin Moons, he’s ridiculous. Hajime wants to stick his foot in his mouth, but in a few seconds, giddiness bubbles in his chest, growing, growing, _growing,_ until it forces Hajime’s lips into a smile, small and exasperated and disgustingly fond.

“I despise you.”

“I'm certain you do.”

And that’s it. Just like that, Tooru bows again and retreats, posture tall and immensely proud of himself, like he’s drawn out Excalibur from the stone. It strokes Hajime’s ego in some twisted way, how Tooru thinks charming _him_ is some kind of huge achievement he can boast about.

Isn’t that romantic?

Sure, but Hajime still wants to choke him. Just a little. 

  
  
  


Repressing his urge to stand up and kick Tooru in the balls, Hajime keeps up the formal, polite smile for the rest of the challenge. He gets sweet, thoughtful things, ones that genuinely surprise him - there’s a character to each of them, telling great stories of the bonds Hajime had the chance to build with them in the last five weeks. It’s sweet, really.

King Kousuke wraps it up, as lurid as ever, with calculated pauses in-between for the desired effect of raising the tension in the room. He’s always been dramatic like that - somewhat fit for a king, Hajime thinks - but he’s still glad he hasn’t taken after his father in this perspective. He wouldn’t want to give himself a headache just for melodramatics.

“Very well,” King Kousuke comes to another halt, casting a side-glance at Hajime. “I think it’s long overdue that my son declares his choice of a life-long partner.” Ew, overuse of emotive epithets, alright. “Prince Hajime, if you would. The stage is yours.”

Hajime sighs, nodding obediently. He stands up, hands lacing behind his back, chest puffed out. Formal manners, if you will. 

“First and foremost, before I say anything, I would like to express my gratitude towards each and every one of you. For having the ambition and devotion turned towards me of such people is truly flattering.” He starts, improvising. He hasn’t had the time to think of a speech, no strategic grammar structures to lead up to his conclusion, unlike his father. In that, he’s still lacking. Still, he’s not so bad at bullshitting his way through formal speeches, and he thanks the heavens for that. “And congratulations. Through and through, you proved to me your worth and with all due sincerity, I am pleased to have made your acquaintance. I have found great companions in each and every one of you, regardless of my ultimate choice.” Okay, Hajime, great going. That was a nice piece of sentiment there. Deep breath, keep it going. “As for said choice, I have no intention of stalling for any more time, so I’ll go on ahead. The winner of this tournament is…” Yeah, okay. One pause for effect won’t hurt. Hajime exhales slowly, with pictures of soft smiles and smug grins on the prettiest lips on his mind, he readies himself for dropping the bomb that everyone already knows.

And then, with as much visible exasperation he can muster, he rolls his eyes and sighs, mouth hugging each letter with something tender behind it;

“Oikawa Tooru.”

Silence cuts through the room, slashing the air with its sharp edge. Hajime can practically taste the sting of shock on his tongue, sweet and sour.

And Tooru, the shit he is, bows; ostentatious and flashy, and in Hajime’s opinion, tacky as hell. If bowing had any sound, the volume of this would be quite literally off the charts, screaming loud.

_Pride_ is a silly, funny little thing.

Yahaba is the first one to voice the simple thing everyone is inevitably thinking;

“Juan-san is _Oikawa Tooru_?!”

Hajime wishes he could wipe Tooru’s smirk off his face. With his fist or his own mouth, that doesn't matter. 

And then it’s utter chaos. The grand entrance Tooru has been dreaming of.

He basks in the attention, parading around like he’s a damn circus in one person. Hajime can’t help but think happiness like this looks good on him, it looks the absolute _best_ on his soft features, with his nose scrunching up and lips pulled into a shit-eating grin, eyes sparkling with that naughty devilry Hajime has grown accustomed to. It’s a sight, really, how everyone is suddenly forming a circle around him, yelling at the absurdity of the situation - Hajime is pretty sure he saw Watari gently jabbing him in the stomach for his troubles - and it’s so fucking _ridiculous._ The Prince of Inari, a whole idiot, who thinks courting Hajime with a pseudonym would have been the funniest thing ever, not deterred by Hajime’s cold insults, executes his plan of not revealing his identity to (almost) anyone. _Idiot,_ Hajime’s mind supplies, but his heart keeps forming mute letters, eventually spelling out _mine, mine, mine_ and Hajime is absolutely _bewildered_ by his traitor of a chest. The rhythmic mantra doesn’t stop, keeps pumping blood into his veins like always, just a tad faster than usual, for Hajime is a sore loser who fell for this certain idiot. _His_ idiot, his heart corrects again.

Just like that, Hajime is engaged. With a ring to match, no less.

<>

The flurry of the end of the tournament manages to strip away any chance Hajime would’ve hoped for exchanging a few words with Tooru. He has to be content with a simple, fleeting look for the rest of the afternoon.

Suddenly, Hajime has a lot of things to busy himself with. Every little detail about his upcoming wedding has to go through him first; he’s supervising the process, insisting on his ideals in various matters, rather than just giving in. 

He finds it unfair how he’s bombarded with all the questions right after he’s _just got engaged,_ but he knows it’s better to get it done sooner than later. He’s been excused from his duties for five weeks, now, and he has a lot to catch up on. Still, he’s anticipating the celebratory banquet that’s being held tonight; he’ll be free of responsibilities just for a few hours. 

His father also asks to see him, apologetic smile and all, putting down a stack of hand-written documents in front of his son. The formalities, the paperwork of his marriage. King Kousuke also announces that he’s expecting both Hajime and Tooru the next day at the Royal Commission’s meeting, as much as he hates to give such obligations for his newly engaged child - there are matters at hand that cannot be postponed any longer, and King Kousuke needs Hajime’s rational and simple thinking by his side. Also, he wants to see how capable Tooru is, as a side-quest.

So, fun prince stuff, really. One can imagine.

  
  
  


It’s when his head starts aching from straining his eyes too much that Hajime finally decides he’s done for the day. If he has to read through one more paragraph of jackass shit put into the shape of formal, complex sentences, he’s going to go bald at a very young age. 

“You look ready to kill,” Issei comments. “And not in the good way.”

“How perceptive of you,” Hajime grumbles back, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Okay, okay. How much time until the ball?”

“Guests start arriving in about thirty minutes or so,” Issei supplies.

Hajime freezes on the spot, blood running cold. “Issei, what the hell!” He shrieks, panic arising in his throat. “I have to get ready! Why didn’t you tell me it’s this late?”

Issei scowls. “I did, but your head was so far up your ass, you didn’t actually hear what I said.” He shrugs, trademark lazy grin forming. “But I guess that’s what you call fashionably late. So responsible, princey.”

“Ah, seriously,” Hajime curses under his breath, standing up. 

His attire for the ball has already been brought in earlier, so he quickly sheds his clothes and changes into them - formal suit, white silk shirt but all dark blue otherwise. He fumbles with the golden buttons, popping them into place, smoothing out the material on his chest. He glances at the mirror, grimace shadowing his face when he takes in his appearance.

“I look like I want to be anywhere but here,” he states, fixing his hair.

“Maybe you should actually ask for someone who knows what to do with miserable princes like you.” Issei rolls his eyes. “But for starters, you could also stop hating everything. Look at that stupid ring you have on, think about Oikawa or something, I don’t know. Get yourself happy.”

Hajime stares at him, unblinking. “That is the worst piece of advice I’ve ever heard, and my dad literally exists,” he says flatly.

Issei chuckles, shaking his head. “Glad to hear my services are much appreciated.”

Two knocks on Hajime’s door interrupt the conversation.

Issei dutifully opens the door, peeking out, blocking their visitor’s sight of Hajime’s room. “Ah, it’s you.”

“Mattsun-chan, I find that lack of enthusiasm insulting. Aren’t you happy to see me?”

An unconscious little traitor smile immediately tugs at Hajime’s lips at the familiar voice.

“Nah,” Issei says. “Hiro-kun, however…”

“Oh, shut up.” Hajime can practically see the arrogant flick of Tooru’s wrist accompanying that intonation. “Is Hajime in here?”

“I am,” Hajime answers for him. “Come in.”

“Oh, _darling._ Quite straightforward, aren’t we? Already inviting me into your cave. Let’s not jump into the middle of things, we still have a ball to attend,” Tooru drawls, teasing. 

Issei steps away, and promptly, Tooru and Takahiro step into Hajime’s room. 

“Shut up, you prick. Make yourself at home. Have a seat, anywhere you like,” he says, throwing another look at himself in the mirror before flashing them a belated welcoming smile, gentle. His eyes trail to the open door, spotting a familiar face. “Oh, Aiko-chan! Do you have a minute to spare?”

The maid whips her head around on the corridor, identifying the source of the voice. When she does, she gives a polite smile, nodding. “Of course, Hajime-sama. What can I do for you?”

Hajime walks to the door, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. “Well,” he says, then looks down at himself, then back to the maid. “I’m clearly in need of some help here.”

Aiko laughs and steps into the room, politely greeting everyone else in there. She gets to work right away, fixing Hajime’s appearance and converting him into a presentable prince with feathery yet firm touches.

From his peripheria, Hajime can see that Tooru has settled on his bed, throwing his leg over the other. “You’ve been busy today, Haji?”

Hajime snorts. “What an astonishing deduction. What led you to that conclusion?”

“Not getting kisses for an entire day was a dead giveaway,” Tooru plays along, giggling. “Shame, really. I’m extremely deserving of affection, you know.”

“You’re deserving of a sword up your ass,” Hajime huffs out, catching Aiko’s smile.

“Such a brute! You’re evolving into a caveman, my prince.”

“At least I’m not a shameless prick like you. Don’t think I forgot the ring. I still hate you for that.”

“Is that why you're wearing it?” Tooru asks, grin clear in his voice. Hajime catches a glimpse of amusement on the other’s face, getting slightly irritated. Mostly just fond. Of course Tooru would notice right away.

“You’re right. Now I have to cut off my hand just to properly get rid of the stink of it.”

Tooru rolls his eyes. “Very clever. I’m still unimpressed, though - but hey, that was an _attempt_ at humour, wasn’t it? Baby steps.”

Hajime just flips him off.

In mere minutes, Aiko has Hajime looking adequately stunning, smoothing out the edges and sculpting him into a masterpiece of expensive silks and sharp features. Hajime can’t be thankful enough.

Aiko leaves them soon after, excusing herself with practised politeness. 

“Time?” Hajime asks, throwing Issei a look to sign his question is directed at him.

“Ten to fifteen minutes, probably. I’m not a clocktower, you know.”

Hajime huffs, shaking his head. Getting ready at the very last second is his style, apparently. Maybe he will start being _fashionably late,_ as Issei put it - he’s a prince, he won’t get shit for it besides a gentle scolding from his father.

Tooru stands up, long legs stretching out gracefully. In two strides, he’s behind Hajime, and unsurprisingly, his arms fall around Hajime’s waist, placing his chin on Hajime’s shoulder. The fluttering flame of the candlelight dances on his pale skin, as Hajime studies him from their reflection. For the thousandth time, he realises how frustratingly handsome Tooru is, with the perfect juxtaposition of sharp and soft edges. His freckles turn invisible in the scant illumination of the room, an orange veil of lukewarm affection shadowing over his features, nose scrunching adorably.

Hajime brings his hand up to ruffle Tooru’s hair, fingers combing through fluffy locks. Tooru leans into the touch, burying his smile into Hajime’s neck, breath warmth against Hajime’s skin. He presses his lips there, leaving goosebumps in his wake, planting a growing smile onto Hajime’s face. 

"Starved for touch, Tooru-kun?" Hajime teases, playfulness etched into every bit of his expression and tone. 

"Yours specifically, yes," Tooru admits, tightening his hold on his waist. His lips travel up Hajime’s neck, pillowy butterflies burning on Hajime’s skin wherever Tooru touches him. Tooru noses under his jaw before pressing a firm peck onto his cheekbone, eyes flickering to their reflection in the mirror, meeting Hajime’s gaze. 

He smirks. "Don't you think we look good together, Hajime?" he muses, popping the letters with a coy tongue, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he tries hiding his amusement, failing tragically. "Of course, no one can be on par with my level of beauty, but I guess you aren't so bad on the eyes, either. From certain angles, at least."

Hajime gives him a look, pulling on Tooru's hair harshly, yanking his head back with force. 

Tooru hisses but laughs, still, holding onto his bastardly taunts, tooth and claw. "Ah, Haji- _kun,_ that hurts! You ought to be more gentle with me. I was only complimenting you."

"You can stick your compliments up your ass," Hajime murmurs lowly, letting go of Tooru's hair. He steps away, throwing one last look in the mirror before he heads for the door. 

"My, my, you're developing a certain _obsession_ with my ass, Hajime." Tooru calls after him, putting his hands on his hips, tilting his head. 

Hajime looks over his shoulder, giving him another one of his looks. "Are you coming or not?" He holds his arm out as he says this, offering his elbow to his idiot. 

Tooru immediately takes the opportunity and hooks his arm around Hajime’s, latching himself to Hajime’s side with a sly, satisfied grin. And Hajime, as much as he wants to, can't bring himself to wipe it away. 

The walk to the Ballroom seems fleeting in the midst of the evening, but it’s the best five minutes of his day so far, Hajime has to admit. Tooru puts him at ease, continuing on with his usual jabbing remarks. Issei and Takahiro gang up on him, as retaliation, and Hajime listens to them silently, eyes flickering between them, his heart nearly bursting out of his chest. If this is the company in which he’s going to live the rest of his life, he has very few complaints.

The huge double doors are pulled open in front of them, and Hajime steps forward, crumbs of anxiety splattered across his chest. It squeezes, not tight enough to hurt, but Hajime is still nervous - of what, he doesn’t exactly know, either. 

The first guests arrive in no time, and he welcomes them by King Kousuke’s side, Tooru standing proud next to him. He’s charming on so many levels, Hajime finds himself having a hard time not punching his perfect face just to kiss it afterwards. 

Slowly, noblemen in formal attires in all colours of the rainbow fill the room, and Hajime gets lost in the crowd, exchanging pleasantries with familiar faces. He loses sight of Tooru somewhere halfway, blaming it on the hectic motions with which the people flow around, the soft murmurs aging into a cacophony of voices.

Hajime is in the middle of a conversation with Shimizu and her father, the topic just having piqued his interest when the first tunes of a popular waltzer paint the room momentarily silent.

The middle of the room slowly clears, leaving space for people who are spurred on to dance first. Hajime spots the string-quartet at the other side of the room, on a small secluded podium, but a sea of dresses and suits block his vision soon after, as the soft tunes of a beautiful melody steals its way inside their ears.

He turns back to the Shimizus, intent on listening to more about Lord Shimizu’s curious hunting habits and methods, and tenses instantly when a strong arm curls around his waist, pulling him away.

“I’m going to borrow him for a while, if you’ll pardon me,” Tooru says in lieu of an excuse, giving them no choice but to smile and nod politely, no room left to protest.

Hajime turns around, glaring at him. “You couldn’t be patient for half a moment?”

Tooru grins back at him. “No.” Then, “Dance with me?”

Hajime allows himself to be pulled to the middle of the room, back straightening, settling into his posture with practised ease. With shoulders parallel to each other, maintaining a big top-line, hands finding each other and fingers interlacing, Hajime takes the initiative and leads Tooru into the first steps of a spotless waltz. His hand naturally falls on Tooru’s waist, while Tooru wraps his arm around his shoulder, his smile still intact.

“I was actually invested in that discussion, you know,” Hajime murmurs, pouting.

“Oh, really?” Tooru giggles. “What were you talking about?”

“Lord Shimizu was telling me about _hawking._ Isn’t that amazing?”

Tooru snorts loud in his ear. “Certainly. Who needs excitement in their life when they can talk about some dumb birds trained to kill?” he mocks.

Hajime pulls his lips into a thin line, mildly irritated. “It doesn’t matter that you don’t find it interesting, because _I_ do. You can poke fun at me, I couldn’t care less.”

“I’m not poking fun at you,” Tooru denies. “I’m just slightly offended by being discarded to the side for some lame talk about hunting methods.”

“It’s not _lame,_ quit it.”

“It _is._ You have Oikawa Tooru, here, in the flesh. Everything becomes infinitesimal in light of my dazzling presence.”

Hajime turns his head to the side, looking away from Tooru’s smug expression. “Your personality is so shit, it actually stinks,” he says, the steps of a waltz engraved in his mind enough that he can lead from simple muscle memory, paying full attention to their conversation. 

“No need to be so vulgar,” Tooru says, leaning in to whisper in Hajime’s ear. “Haven’t you missed me, Hajime?”

A pause. “No.”

“ _Liar._ ”

“There’s nothing to miss about your babbly mouth.”

Tooru grins, like Hajime has walked right into his trap. “I know of a few ways you could shut me up, sweetheart.”

Hajime grunts, purposefully stepping on Tooru’s leg.

“Wow, Haji,” Tooru says, pulling away, voice flat. “Unimpressive.”

Finally, Hajime grins, mischievous. “My bad. I’m such a clumsy two-shoes sometimes, you know?”

Tooru snickers, shaking his head in fond exasperation. He looks at Hajime longingly, opening his mouth to retort, but decides against it the last second. Then, with a newfound tenderness underlying his voice, he says; “You’re beautiful.”

Hajime doesn’t blush. He _doesn’t._

“Seriously,” he mutters. “Shut up, you ass. That’s not fair.”

“We never agreed on having rules to this,” Tooru points out, happy with himself. “Besides, I really can’t help it. You’re all I think about,” he claims, lowering his voice. His next words turn darker, eyes unreadable. “You drive me crazy. Really, especially when...Well…” he smirks, the fucking _bastard,_ and then, “some _nights,_ when I’m all alone.”

Hajime takes a single moment to let that sink in, before his eyes narrow. “Do I have to remind you of the lack of privacy we currently possess? There are _people_ here, Tooru.”

Tooru bats his eyelashes, putting up an innocent look. “Alright, alright. I’m kidding.”

Hajime huffs. “Are you really?”

“Hm?”

“Do you not think about me at night?”

That puts the self-righteous smirk back on Tooru’s face. “It doesn’t have to be at night,” he purrs, winking. 

Hajime is positive he turns into a human tomato, then. His cheeks unmistakably _burn._ He has no comeback, and Tooru takes notice of as much.

“Hm? Cat got your tongue, Hajime?”

“No,” Hajime replies weakly. “I hate you.”

Tooru just laughs.

<>

His footsteps echo loudly in the quiet night, far away from the banquet, which is coming to a slow, drunken end. The chilly breeze nips against Hajime's skin, sneaking under any revealed patch of surface. The only melody is the crickets harmonising away, and the distant menuet chiming from the Western Wing, from the Ballroom, still somewhat lively. 

Hajime sucks in a sharp breath, his gaze landing on the sky above, spotting the many constellations he’s yet to get familiar with. Tooru could easily name each and every one of them, Hajime knows.

Unsurprisingly, when Hajime turns around the last corner, he already sees two familiar forms at the pavilion, Tooru sitting on top of the table in the middle, Takahiro standing a few feet away from him, at ease.

“Fancy seeing my favourite fiancé here!” Tooru shouts at them, and inevitably, it brings a stupid smile to Hajime’s lips.

Making their way over to them, Hajime crosses his arms, making a show of rolling his eyes. “You have more than one?”

Tooru grins. Hajime thinks silver fits him really well, the moonlight highlighting his features. “No. I just like the sound of that word.”

“To-chan _-sama,_ ” Takahiro interrupts.

Tooru flicks his hand in a dismissive gesture. “Yeah, yeah, go ahead.”

Takahiro grins. With that, he steps ahead and grabs Issei’s collar, pulling him closer to himself, and they exchange identical, knowing grins before Hajime’s bodyguard leans down and kisses Takahiro, diving right in.

Hajime blinks, perplexed. “Woah?”

“Makki-chan gave me a very detailed, graphic description of how they fucked last night, so believe me, this is nothing.”

Hajime’s mouth falls open, bewildered both by the new information and Tooru’s bluntness. In reality, he knows Issei approached Takahiro with much more certainty ever since Hajime kissed Tooru for the first time, but he didn’t think they’d move this fast. Dear Twin Moons.

“Besides,” Tooru adds, eyes taking on a sharp glint, lips morphing into a dark smile. “I’m very tempted to do the same to you, Hajime.”

Despite the butterflies erupting in his stomach, and how flustered he immediately feels, Hajime puts up quite a believable front. “Good thing you still have enough control to maintain your manners, then.”

As if on cue, Tooru grabs his wrist and pulls him in, wrapping his arms around Hajime’s neck. He’s warm, a furnace compared to Hajime, and it’s like he’s burning alive with every touch of Tooru’s gentle hands.

Tooru leans in, hovering just in front of Hajime’s lips. Their noses brush against each other, and for a moment, Hajime feels the world narrow down to the man sitting in front of him. It’s suddenly just them in their disgusting bubble, sharing the same breath, same level of tender warmth crawling out of their chests.

“I never really cared much about manners,” Tooru whispers, eyes half-lidded and flickering between Hajime’s forest green gaze pinning him down and his mouth, pulling him in with a magnetic force.

Hajime smiles, tongue unconsciously slipping out to lick his lips. Tooru’s breath hitches almost inaudibly at the simple action, so focused on Hajime, peripheria narrowed down to a tunnel vision of him, him, him.

“You’re a prince,” he points out, teasing.

“Exactly,” Tooru clicks his tongue. “I can get away with it.” Then he leans in, pressing his lips on Hajime’s cheek, peppering him with soft pecks, until Hajime is a giggling mess. Only then does he pull away, just a few inches, his smile putting the sun itself to shame. “So, permission to kiss you?”

Hajime closes his eyes. “Granted,” he breathes.

Next thing he knows, Tooru has already slanted their mouths together, in a way that makes his stomach clench, fall into a low region below his belt. He gasps into Tooru’s mouth, and Tooru drinks it all up, licks the air out of Hajime’s lungs with a confident swipe of his tongue. 

If their first kiss was hungry, this is just plain _starved._ Tooru kisses him with the bittersweet tang of longing pushed onto his taste buds, spiced with straightforward confidence. Hajime grabs Tooru’s waist, searching for something to hold onto lest he ascends, gravity giving up on him. His brain folds into itself, surrendering to whatever magical spell has been cast on him, and there’s no rational, scientific explanation to the way Hajime feels right now. He tries pulling away, asking for a break but Tooru doesn’t let up, holding the back of Hajime’s head and pushing him right back against himself, slotting their lips together once again. He hums from deep within his chest, yearning for something below the face of the Earth, below miles and miles of stratum, drilling into the inner core through the burning mantle.

“Tooru,” Hajime chokes, putting minimal distance between them, leaning his forehead against Tooru’s. A giggle rips through his throat when Tooru tries catching his lips again, and he sees his smile reflecting on Tooru’s mouth. “Hey,” he murmurs.

“You have no idea,” Tooru croaks out, voice raspy. He clears his throat, licking his red lips. “How much I wanted to do this for weeks now. Every second of the day.”

“That’s…” Hajime struggles finding the words. “That’s actually kind of, um. Really sweet,” he chuckles, not because he finds it funny but because he’s just simply _happy._

“It was absolute _torture,_ ” Tooru whispers, nosing under his jaw. Playfully, he nips on the skin of Hajime’s neck, too gentle to actually bear any pain.

“Hm. Enduring _you_ is likewise, so I think that's fai— _mmph!_ ”

Tooru kisses him, keeping it short and sweet, but it gets the job done.

“You say anything?” He asks cheekily, daring Hajime to try saying it again.

“Oh, you’re a foxy one,” Hajime grunts. He ignores the vehement speed at which his heart is beating, increasing the pace with every small glance at Tooru. Damn it. The moonlight borrows him a mysterious look, his honey-brown eyes cutting into Hajime’s flesh with sly intent, and _fuck_ if it doesn’t look good on Tooru. Hajime is starting to believe he was sent here for the sole purpose of making Hajime suffer, really.

Tooru’s fingers massage his scalp, combing through his locks on the back of his head. Hajime resists the urge to close his eyes, but he knows damn well Tooru could lull him to sleep with his gentle touches.

“Mm. Can you tame this fox, Haji-chan?”

Hajime grins. “Haven’t I already?”

With playfulness wrinkling the corners of his eyes, Tooru smiles. “Who knows? You’ll need a lot more than that to make me give out my deepest secrets.”

“Not so much of a secret when everyone already knows it,” Hajime teases, kissing Tooru’s nose.

“Don’t get cheeky with me, Hajime. That’s _my_ forte.”

Hajime grins, and kisses him again.

**Author's Note:**

> for the "stick up their ass" dialogue parts: pls i dont talk like this normally ok i was just tryna fit the au setting JSJSKDJ
> 
> kudos and comments are always v much appreciated hehe
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/aobajhoesal)


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